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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349642">Alternate Forging Methods</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama'>esama</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Iron Desmond [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers &amp; Fandom Fusions, Don't copy to another site, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Instability, Near Death Experiences, Secret Identity, Temporary Character Death, Terrorists, The Animus (Assassin's Creed), The Ten Rings (Marvel), Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:34:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>55,078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Ten Rings find Desmond years before Abstergo does.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Desmond Miles &amp; Ho Yinsen, Desmond Miles/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Iron Desmond [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2956</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Proofread by Nimadge</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The man that's dragged out of the jeep doesn't look like much, with white hoodie dirty with sweat and blood and a dark hood of rough cloth pulled over his head, hands shackled behind his back. He stumbles as he's manhandled to the ground and then he stays there on his knees, quiet and fearful, hooded head bowed. Helpless and weak, there's no warrior's grace in him, no poise, his posture is awkward and clumsy.</p><p>Raza lets himself feel vindictively pleased by this.</p><p>Had he believed in gods, he would have said that this is the moment when they begin smiling upon him. After many years of hard work, of toil and suffering and sacrifice, events are lining up in his favour and opportunities are coming his way, on two fronts even. It's enough to make him smile – but not enough for him to let his guard down.</p><p>Around him his men wait and watch, as Raza crouches in front of their newest addition, taking him in at length. Had the prisoner had any weapons, his men would've taken them from him – though judging by the casual, cheap clothes he likely had none to begin with. The fabric of the jeans is worn and the hoodie a little frayed here and there – and they both fit the man as though shaped for his body. It's not a disguise, but daily wear, shaped by the wearer.</p><p>Raza tugs at the man's hoodie, opening it enough to see – no sign of straps or belts underneath, nor marks worn by then. He doesn't wear holsters, then, doesn't habitually carry weapons. He doesn't even wear a belt – the belt loops of his jeans are the least worn part of the trousers.</p><p>So, the intel is correct. This man is a civilian.</p><p>Raza glances at his men, warily waiting around him with their weapons drawn but casually held, ready for trouble. Backlit by the jeep lights they make for an impressive, intimidating display.</p><p>"Did he give you any trouble?" Raza asks in dari.</p><p>"Made a lot of noise, until we knocked it out of him," Faris scoffs. "He's soft, barely put up a fight. Shouldn't be hard to keep in check."</p><p>"Don't let your guard down," Raza says warningly and stands up. "His is a lineage of history's best killers – and blood will always tell. Never let your guard down."</p><p>There are some dubious looks at that, but his men don't argue, taking his words at face value and preparing themselves.</p><p>Raza pulls the hood off their captive's head, and – it is like looking into the past.</p><p>The man unearthed is young, in his early twenties, and though his face bears the indiscriminate features of those of mixed ancestry, he looks strikingly like his ancestors. Raza had seen it before, in pictures, in surveillance footage, but now, coming face to face with him…</p><p>He really does look exactly like Altaïr – even while blinking blearily up at him, his expression confused in a way the great Mentor would have never allowed himself to show.</p><p>The man on his knees blinks and squints and looks around, trying to make sense of the situation. Then, uneasy, he looks up at Raza.</p><p>"Welcome, Mr. Miles," Raza says in Arabic, "the descendant of history's greatest murderers."</p><p>Desmond Miles' eyes sharpen at that, but he doesn't understand. "Well, that's my name," he murmurs, though not in Arabic. "I don't suppose you speak English?"</p><p>He doesn't know Arabic then. Wasn't trained in the old ways. Pitiful. "I said welcome, Desmond Miles," Raza repeats in English. "The descendant of history's greatest killers."</p><p>The man leans back at that, his shoulders coming up, defensive. "I don't know who you think I am," he says, glancing around and wincing at the sight of all the firearms. "Or what do you think you might gain from me, um. I'm just a bartender."</p><p>"You are the son of William Miles and Jacqueline Travere," Raza says. "Yes? A Mentor and a Master Assassin."</p><p>Desmond Miles' breathes in and out and says, "Listen, I – I don't know what this is about – I haven't even seen my parents in over seven years, whatever they did, whatever they owe you – it-it has nothing to do with me. I left, I – it has nothing to do with me. And I haven't money or anything to even <em>pay with,</em> even if it did –"</p><p>"You have blood," Raza says and smiles. "<em>Their</em> blood. The blood of your ancestors. That is all I want."</p><p>Altaïr never would have gone so pale, nor looked so fearful. The expression really fits poorly on his noble features – if only Raza's own ancestors could see it now...</p><p>"I –" Desmond Miles says, obviously thinking of arguments, looking around for anything to help – but there is nothing. He is in Raza's domain, surrounded by Raza's men, and even his Mentor father doesn't know he's here – no one does. No one would aid him here, and his helplessness is culpable.</p><p>"Fear not, Desmond Miles," Raza says, almost amused but not letting it show. "I don't intend to kill you. Cooperate, and no harm will come to you. Resist – and this will be a struggle for you. And not one you will come out on top of."</p><p>Desmond swallows, counting the men around them and then looks up at him. "Y-yeah," he says, shaky. "Right, what – what do you want me to cooperate with?"</p><p>Raza motions to Abu, who pulls Desmond right to his feet. Clasping his hands behind his back, Raza then leads their newest guest and his men into the caves and into the room they had prepared for him. Yinsen waits there, nervously bouncing to his feet and putting up his arms as Raza enters and Desmond is pushed in after.</p><p>Raza gives Desmond enough time to take in the room, the low hanging ceiling, the single lightbulb, the cots by the wall, the Animus waiting for him on the other end – and Yinsen himself, still valiantly trying to hold onto his propriety by keeping his suit clean and tidy. Then, once reality of the dingy room has settled within Desmond's mind, Raza motions to the Animus.</p><p>"Your throne, oh great descendant," he says, and Yinsen's eyes widen. "This is what I want you to cooperate with. This, and all the treasures it can give."</p><p>"I – don't understand," Desmond says slowly, while behind him Abu opens his cuffs and shoves him further into the room. The American stumbles and only barely stays on his feet, no sign of combat training in his movements. "What is that?"</p><p>"This is a miracle of modern technology that lets us see into the past," Raza says, giving the Animus a grimly pleased look. "Yinsen will help you use it, teach you how to master it, and with it you will find me treasures your ancestors mastered – and hid away."</p><p>"I – I don't – what?"</p><p>Raza knows, from personal experience, that explaining the Animus rarely, if ever, truly explains its capabilities – so he simply motions Desmond to the chair. "Sit," he says, in a tone that will endure no arguments.</p><p>There's a click of a gun being cocked, and Desmond Miles scrambles into the Animus, awkwardly sitting down, keeping his head up, away from the nodes sticking out from the headrest.</p><p>Raza puts a palm on his forehead and forces his head down. "Yinsen."</p><p>"Right, right, yes," Yinsen says, wide-eyed as he throws glances at Desmond, and quickly moves to the computers, starting the system up. "Engaging genetic sequencing – it will take a moment –"</p><p>On the chair, the nodes begin to glow warm red.</p><p>"I suggest you don't fight it," Raza says to now squirming, hyperventilating Desmond, who is giving the glowing nodes cradling his head wild eyed looks. "And maybe the Animus will not drive you mad before this is all over."</p><p>Desmond's eyelids flicker with fear and he swallows, a dry click. Beside the Animus, Yinsen stares fixedly at the screens as the American's DNA is scanned and marked.</p><p>"What you learn you will write down – everything you learn you will write down. Or there will be consequences," Raza tells Desmond. "Do you understand? You will write down <em>everything.</em>"</p><p>Under his hand, Desmond nods shakily, and Yinsen says, "Almost there…"</p><p>"You will find it for me," Raza says firmly, pressing Desmond's head down firmer, keeping him still. "Find me the Apple of Eden."</p><p>The man doesn't understand, that much is obvious. No matter. He would, soon enough. "Send him down," Raza orders Yinsen while stepping back from the chair. The doctor looks like he wants to argue, so Raza snaps, "<em>Now</em>," and it's enough.</p><p>Yinsen hits a key, and in the Animus, Desmond Miles goes still between one panicked breath and the next. Raza watches him for a moment and then nods. "For both your sakes," he says to Yinsen. "You better get me results."</p><p>Yinsen nods, fearful, and Raza motions his men to leave.</p><p>Soon, he would have the ultimate power to control men, to control nations – soon both the Templars and the Assassins would be proved the fools they'd always been. <em>Soon</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Yinsen isn't a stranger to the fearful wait that is existence under the Ten Rings tender mercies. Most of his time is spent in waiting, and sometimes days can pass by when the only time he sees people is when they throw food into his room before leaving him alone to wait out another nervous day in the cold, and sometimes the dark.</p><p>At least with the Animus they are less likely to turn off the electricity in the room – the machine required a steady current, or it might fail, maybe even break. So there would be light, now, perhaps even enough to shave by.</p><p>The quality of the wait is different, in company. It's not the first time he has had a cellmate, as it happened – rarely did the kidnap victims of Ten Rings survive their capture unharmed, and more than once Yinsen had to patch them up, even save their lives – and sometimes, it was his captors themselves he was called to treat, but that could hardly be called amiable company. Desmond makes for a… strange presence.</p><p>There in body – away in spirit. It makes the time pass by that much slower, every minute sluggish and long.</p><p>Yinsen keeps an eye on Desmond's progress, as much as he can – as much as he understands. All he can do is track his vitals, really, his blood pressure, heart rate… the Animus tracks Desmond's synaptic activity to some extent, but Yinsen isn't a neurologist, and the readout doesn't mean much to him. As far as he can tell, Desmond Miles is in a deep REM sleep – though he knows he isn't. Not exactly, anyway.</p><p>The minutes tick slowly into hours, and it grows late. Yinsen keeps himself awake and alert by doing what little he can around the room, cleaning what he can, tidying up a cot for Desmond to use once out of the Animus. There's not much to do though – tidying up is often all he can do to keep busy here, and as much as a cave can be cleaned, it has been.</p><p>It's past midnight when Desmond finally stirs on the dentist chair the Animus was built upon. Yinsen keeps a wary distance – the few members of Ten Rings that had tried the Animus did not react well to it, and he doesn't expect Desmond to either.</p><p>And he doesn't – he turns, groaning, and dry heaves over the armrest, clutching onto the chair and coughing. The only reason both he and the chair stay upright is because it's bolted into the floor.</p><p>"Oh my god," Desmond groans, hanging onto the chair. "My <em>head</em>."</p><p>Ah, that at least Yinsen can do something about. Quickly, he goes for his bag and then goes to Desmond's side, carefully avoiding the sick on the floor. "Here – it won't help immediately, but I have paracetamol. Take it, and stay still until it begins working."</p><p>Desmond doesn't even question it – he takes the pills dry and collapses back on the Animus. Yinsen offers him water, belatedly, but he accepts the glass readily. It shakes in his hand when he drinks.</p><p>"What," Desmond asks after a minute or two. "What was that – what <em>is</em> this?"</p><p>"The Animus," Yinsen says, while fetching a bucket and a rag to clean the floor with – from experience, he'll much prefers to clean it now rather than let it sit and dry and the stench fester. "It is a machine that lets you experience the genetic memory of your ancestors. Who did you become?"</p><p>Desmond doesn't answer immediately, his eyes shut, pained frown on his face. "What?"</p><p>"When you went into the Animus, you should have become someone else for a while," Yinsen explains and finishes wiping the floor clean. "That is how it works for others – who did you become?"</p><p>Desmond opens his eyes finally. They're warm, light brown, Yinsen notes with some private dismay.</p><p>Samim had light brown eyes too.</p><p>"What is this place?" Desmond asks. "Who are you?"</p><p>Well, he would be confused. "You are in the care of Ten Rings, somewhere in the mountains of Hindu Kush," Yinsen says and when Desmond's brows take a quick upward leap, obviously thinking something <em>entirely different</em>, Yinsen adds slowly, "You're in Afghanistan."</p><p>"Oh. <em>Oh</em>. You're kidding me," Desmond says, flat with disbelief. "So that – that whole song and dance – I was seriously captured by <em>terrorists</em>?"</p><p>Yinsen says nothing to that, just gives him a look.</p><p>"Why?" Desmond demands, confused. "I'm – I'm not anybody, I'm – I'm a bartender! I got like two hundred dollars to my name, at max, what the hell do they want with me?"</p><p>"It's not <em>you </em>they want, but your ancestry – or more specifically, what your ancestors knew and possessed, and, as the Ten Rings hope… what they <em>hid</em>," Yinsen says and motions to the chair Desmond is still lying on. "From what I gather, Desmond Miles, you are related to some people who were very influential in their time – and Ten Rings wants what those people had."</p><p>Desmond recoils away from the Animus, almost stumbling over the bucket – Yinsen barely manages to catch it before it rolls over and splashes them both with dirty water. "Shit, sorry, sorry," Desmond says and then with a groan clutches onto his forehead. "Ugh, I sat up too fast…"</p><p>"Sit down, take a moment – deep slow breaths," Yinsen says and quickly directs him to the cot he'd tidied for him. "There, just breathe. Tell me if you see visual hallucinations – they're a common side effect."</p><p>"... There are <em>non</em>-visual hallucinations?" Desmond asks plaintively, as he rubs at his eyes.</p><p>"Oh, certainly. Auditory, olfactory, somatic..." Yinsen trails, watching him. "What do you see?"</p><p>"Nothing – my eyes are shut."</p><p>Cheeky, but also a good sign. "The headache and dizziness will pass in an hour or so, sooner hopefully with the paracetamol," Yinsen reassures him. "And as you get more accustomed to the Animus, you will hopefully suffer less adverse side effects."</p><p>That makes the young man look up. "I have to go back into the thing?!" he asks with trepidation.</p><p>"Did you find what they are looking for?" Yinsen asks, arching his brows. "Hm? Who did you become?"</p><p>Desmond looks at him warily, digging his fingers into his temples and rubbing. "I, uh. His name is Altaïr – was Altaïr? A bit of a dick," he says and bows his head again. "I don't – I don't know. He's an Assassin. I think I know him, but I don't get what… just, <em>what is this</em>?"</p><p>"He would be your ancestor, then," Yinsen tells him, calmly. "That's what the Animus does – it allows you to relive the genetic memories left behind by your ancestors in your DNA. Do you know what Genetic Memory means?"</p><p>"I know what the words mean by themselves, so I can guess," Desmond sighs. "Sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi movie."</p><p>Yinsen hums, not quite disagreeing. That was what he had thought, when Raza made him assemble the Animus, so he can't exactly blame the young man for his scepticism.</p><p>"How the hell did these guys build something like that?" Desmond asks then, bewildered, and motions around them. "This is a cave! You don't build sci-fi tech in a cave."</p><p>"The technology was created by other people," Yinsen explains. "A pharmaceutical company named Abstergo Industries – ah, I see you've heard of them."</p><p>Desmond's head's come up, and his expression is between disbelief and resignation. "Abstergo, huh?"</p><p>"Yes. I don't know how Ten Rings got their hands on the designs, but it was their logo on the blueprints," Yinsen agrees and takes a seat. "We simply followed the directions – taking some shortcuts along the way, hence the dentist chair," he motions to the Animus.</p><p>"Right," Desmond says and runs a shaking hand down his face. "Right, right, what the <em>fuck</em>?" He doesn't seem to be expecting an answer to that, he's only digesting the information, so Yinsen says nothing. "Right – and how – how did they find me?" Desmond asks after a moment.</p><p>"That I don't know for sure," Yinsen admits. "Though from what I heard, it was a… trade with some business partner of theirs. Their partner found and delivered you, and in return the Ten Rings are going to perform a hit for them."</p><p>"... Great, so, I'm worth a <em>hit</em>?" Desmond asks, somewhat hysterically. "That's great, that's <em>awesome</em>."</p><p>"I expect what's in your ancestors' memories might be even more valuable than that," Yinsen says grimly. "What did you see, Desmond?"</p><p>He regrets using the name the moment it's past his lips. Desmond doesn't seem to mind, or really even notice that he did, but Yinsen doesn't mean to become familiar with the young man. Even if he is only a few years older than Samim and has eyes so much like he did, even if Desmond seems like an innocent man drawn into a world he does not know… Yinsen knows what awaits them both – and what the Animus can do to the psyche. Getting attached now would only result in pain.</p><p>Desmond lowers his hands and looks at them, tugging at his left ring finger. "Just Altaïr, going about his life, being a haughty asshole, making a mess of things, getting into a fight with another Assassin called Abbas – I don't know."</p><p>"You should write it down," Yinsen says and motions to the writing desk waiting for him. "That's what our captors expect of you."</p><p>"And if I don't?" Desmond asks, frowning.</p><p>"I wouldn't risk it, if I were you," Yinsen says simply.</p><p>"Mm," Desmond answers, dubious, and looks at him. "What about you? Why are you here – uh, didn't happen to catch your name –?"</p><p>"It's Yinsen. And I am here not quite in the same capacity as you – but similar. I have knowledge the Ten Rings can use," Yinsen explains. "I'm a general surgeon. And had you come here worse for wear, it would've been my job to put you together again. And," he can't help adding little more firmly, "it will be my job to patch you up, if the Ten Rings decide they need to use force to get your cooperation."</p><p>Desmond huffs out a mirthless laugh. "So, play nice, don't get tortured?"</p><p>"I think it would be for the best," Yinsen agrees. Not that Desmond had come to this place perfectly unscathed. There are bruises forming on his face, and going by the crust around his nostrils, he'd gotten a bloody nose at some point. Yinsen could only hope it was their captors being overzealous and that Desmond wasn't the fighting sort – because that would only get him killed here, as it had so many before him.</p><p>"Right," Desmond says, looking towards the writing desk. "The terrorists want me to write a dream journal. Great. Always thought I should do one of those – go all mindful and stuff."</p><p>Yinsen smiles despite himself. At least so far he seems to be taking the whole thing well. "Never too late to learn to know oneself," he says.</p><p>"Or apparently, one's family tree," Desmond sighs and stands up, shaking his head. "Genetic memories and terrorists, man. That's not at all why I thought I would be caught."</p><p>Yinsen arches an interested brow at that but Desmond is heading for the writing desk, where several empty notebooks wait for him, along with a collection of pens and markers. As Desmond sits down to pick through the books and write, Yinsen turns away and sighs – hoping against hope that he wouldn't have to watch this young man get killed too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Going out of his way to be agreeable with the terrorists is in the end not just the smart choice… but the only choice.</p><p>The bald-headed, scowling, vaguely familiar looking leader of the Ten Rings keeps a close watch on Desmond's progress. Immediately the morning after Desmond's first session in the Animus, the guy is there, leafing through what he'd written and looking only marginally pleased with Desmond's rather haphazard notes about how Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad lived his life.</p><p>"You will follow him, through all his life," the terrorist leader says. "He will lead you to it. Write down everything."</p><p>"It might be – easier if I knew what I was –" Desmond starts to say, but stops at the threatening motions made by the guards around the leader.</p><p>"You will know when you see it," the terrorist leader says and then, a sentence Desmond would very quickly learn to hate… "Get back in the Animus."</p><p>And back into the Animus he goes, with Yinsen quickly initialising the memory sequence from where Desmond had left off and dropping him back into the past, back into the skin and thoughts of a angry, somewhat aloof and definitely arrogant Altaïr, who then proceeds to spend most of the day training and trading barbs with fellow assassin novices as he spars with them under the facade of the Masyaf Castle. Altaïr beats them all, and he's not exactly humble about it.</p><p>There's no <em>know it when you see it</em> moment there, unless the thing he's supposed to know is that Altair is a bit of a dick and a teacher's pet, and not very good at hiding how badly the insults thrown his way by his fellow novices actually hurt. The guy had some seriously bad social skills, and the fact that his teachers lauded him as a prodigious future assassin, right in front of his peers, definitely didn't help.</p><p>Desmond does figure out the year the events are supposedly taking place in, or at least the century – the twelfth. When he comes out of the Animus, feeling confused and with a headache from hell again, Yinsen suggests he writes it down immediately.</p><p>"It is progress," the man says, though he looks worried.</p><p>"I don't get what I'm supposed to do, down there," Desmond groans, rubbing at his forehead. "What I'm supposed to <em>find</em> down there."</p><p>The older man hums in agreement – he doesn't know either. "You must keep looking," Yinsen says and offers him a paracetamol and a glass of water. "There's food – it even looks edible."</p><p>Desmond really doesn't have much of an appetite with the mother of all migraines going on, but going by the clock, he's been six hours in the Animus, and – and he should probably eat something.</p><p>The supposedly edible looking food is mostly rice, and it tastes like wet sand in Desmond's mouth.</p><p>"Can you tell me about these guys, the Ten Rings?" Desmond asks, as he tries to force it down. "Who are they – what do they want?"</p><p>"They want what they want," Yinsen says with a distant look at nothing. "Power, control, weapons, money – to cause chaos and destruction, to make people fear them and respect them."</p><p>"That's not vague at all," Desmond comments wryly.</p><p>"I don't know if they have a goal as such," Yinsen admits. "Or an ideal they all fall under. They come from different places, different lands, vastly different backgrounds – I don't even know how they've come together here."</p><p>Desmond hums. "So they're not all from around here?"</p><p>"Most are Arabs," Yinsen muses. "But there are others – Hungarians, Russians, Chinese, I think Kalen might be from Brazil…"</p><p>"Multinational order of terrorists," Desmond muses. "Well, points for inclusiveness, I guess."</p><p>"From what I understand, you Assassins are somewhat similar," Yinsen comments thoughtfully.</p><p>Desmond huffs out a laugh at that and runs a hand over his face. "Yeah, I wouldn't know," he says, though it is a bit like it was at the Farm, maybe? That had people from all over there too, but… these guys aren't like the Assassins. At least Desmond<em> hopes</em> these guys aren't like the Assassins. Or that the Assassins aren't like Ten Rings. Knowing now that the Assassins are actually<em> real</em> and have a history, and that the modern Assassins might be still tied with the ancient versions of the Brotherhood, it's messing up his previous conceptions, but… these guys can't be <em>it</em>.</p><p>Though what does he care if they <em>are</em>. He's not an Assassin.</p><p>Yinsen watches him quietly for a moment. "You were a bartender," he says then, curiously. "That's quite the career choice for someone with your – background."</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees. "Black sheep of the family, me. Or, considering that my family is made of killers, maybe I'm the white sheep?" he wonders. "Not that I actually believed they were, before now. I just thought they were, I don't know… nuts?"</p><p>Yinsen's brows arch. "Really?"</p><p>Desmond shrugs and pokes at his food with a spoon. "Ran away when I was sixteen," he admits. "Wanted to have a normal life, and what we had, that wasn't normal. I figured later that they were like a cult, maybe – you know those really messed up ones you sometimes see on the news?"</p><p>"Only now to realise they were what they said they were?" Yinsen hums.</p><p>"Not sure if it makes it better or worse," Desmond sighs and sets the food down – he can't eat it. "I mean… if I was still part of that group, maybe I could expect a rescue here, maybe someone would be looking for me, but… hell, I don't think they even know I'm <em>alive</em>, never mind kidnapped. But on the other hand, if I <em>hadn't</em> been born into it…"</p><p>"You wouldn't have been kidnapped in the first place," Yinsen concludes, finishing his own meal fastidiously.</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees and looks down at the floor grimly. All the talk of lineages and bloodlines when he was a kid, and now this… "I haven't been part of that – that <em>world</em> in seven years. Can't say I missed it either."</p><p>Yinsen hums sympathetically. "It must be difficult for you," he says, setting this bowl down.</p><p>Desmond isn't sure what<em> difficult</em> here means, but he's pretty sure things haven't even started getting difficult yet. "What about you?" he asks. "How did Ten Rings nab you – just off the street like me?"</p><p>"They attacked my home village, Gulmira, where I worked," Yinsen says, looking down. "One of them was injured in the process, and they demanded I tend to him – and I have been tending to them ever since."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Desmond offers. "You got any family? Anyone looking for you?"</p><p>Yinsen looks at him and sighs. "You should eat more – you're already dehydrated, let's not add starvation to the mix. After that, you should sleep.</p><p>Guess that's answer enough. Desmond tries the food, but it's just not happening, and in the end he sighs. "I'll try the sleep," he offers. "Maybe I'll feel less sick after."</p><p>He doesn't – and the sudden onset of nightmares definitely doesn't help.</p><hr/><p>When Desmond lingers too long outside the Animus, someone will come in to usher him back into it – usually with a machine gun in hand. Most of the Ten Rings members don't know English, so proper communication is out – but it's not like pointed fingers and threatening gestures are difficult to understand.</p><p>The leader, who seems to be the only one with English, doesn't come around until a few days later, after Desmond's migraine has become semi-permanent and Yinsen has started giving him some very worried looks. In that time, Desmond has slept only about nine hours in total amidst confused nightmares and eaten maybe three full meals – and he'd thrown up more than once.</p><p>The terrorist leader isn't happy with his progress, reading through Desmond's notes before throwing the book down, disgusted. "I don't care about his <em>youth</em>," he snaps. "It's his later years I want – when he is a Master Assassin, and comes upon the Apple of Eden."</p><p>"I don't know what that is – and I don't have much control over what I see down there. It just – happens," Desmond says, trying not to snap back. His head is swimming, and having been pulled out of the Animus mid-memory isn't doing him any favours. "The thing there throws me wherever, I can't –"</p><p>"You will learn control," the terrorist leader says. "Work harder."</p><p>"I've been <em>trying</em> –"</p><p>"Try <em>harder</em>."</p><p>Desmond makes a face, and that's, apparently, the wrong thing to do. The next thing he knows, his world is being spun forward wildly, and he just barely glimpses Yinsen's alarmed face before he's bodily dragged out of the room.</p><p>Being waterboarded definitely doesn't make his headache any better, but it's hell of an incentive to try harder, Desmond gives them that. He's put back in the Animus, still dripping water, and somewhere between his own shock and Altaïr's fear of water, Desmond manages to confusedly skip the time ahead, to when Altaïr is a few years older – working as an Assassin. There's still no moment of <em>know it where you see it</em>, but there's no more sparring. Or at least not as much sparring.</p><p>When Desmond gets out of the Animus after that, Yinsen has hooked him into an intravenous drip, and Desmond starts seeing things. Just a – a blurring at the corners of his vision and this sense that there's someone there, someone he can't see, just sense, and – and his vision is flickering, in and out, between the dimly lit cave and something darker.</p><p>In that darkness, Yinsen glows a reassuring blue – the terrorists that come in to shove him around and demand he writes down what he saw, they glow red. Like fucking <em>demons.</em></p><p>Desmond doesn't know how he reacts to it, his head is<em> spinning,</em> and everything is a mire of confusion and cacophony of shouting, and he can't <em>see</em> properly – but he can feel the arms grabbing him, and the hood coming down on his face, again, before his head gets dunked in water, <em>again</em>.</p><p>So, Desmond is losing his mind on top of being kidnapped and tortured.</p><p>Fuck.</p><hr/><p>Desmond sleeps badly and eats worse, and he's in the Animus. There are moments of respite in between, he's peripherally aware of Yinsen arguing for his mental health, but the breaks are short and hard won. The Ten Rings don't exactly care about his sanity or health, as long as he keeps writing.</p><p>"If this keeps up, you will need a better feeding solution," Yinsen murmurs. "I can keep you going with intravenous nutrients, but you need to <em>eat</em>, Desmond."</p><p>"What's the point?" Desmond asks, rubbing at his eyes and trying to ignore the fact that his mind is trying to convince him it's sky above his head, not stone. He keeps seeing Masyaf Castle, and old cities, and Altaïr jumping off things, and – "I'm losing my mind, and the <em>assholes</em> here are going to just keep pushing until I get them something, and they don't care if that's gonna kill me."</p><p>"They will care if you die before you get them results," Yinsen answers, and Desmond snorts at that, making the older man sigh. "Which, I understand, is not exactly a <em>comfort,</em> but – as long as you have something to give, you are a valuable captive worth keeping alive. Maybe if you get them something…"</p><p>Desmond looks up at him, weary. Yinsen looks like someone, but Desmond can't put a finger on whom he looks like. Not Al Mualim, not exactly, but <em>someone</em>. "I'm losing my mind, Yinsen," Desmond says. "And they're probably going to kill me, if not now then later, when they decide I'm not of use – why would I want to <em>help them</em>?"</p><p>"Because for as long as you are alive, there is still hope," Yinsen says, quiet and serious. "As long as you are sane, there's a chance."</p><p>"Chance to do <em>what</em>? Go mad, but with style?"</p><p>Yinsen hesitates and then sits beside him on the footrest of the Animus. "I have been going through what files there are of Abstergo's research on the Animus," he says quietly. "They don't yet understand all there is to the Animus, but there have been repeated mentions of a side effect."</p><p>"Seeing things, going mad, yes, been there, seen things," Desmond sighs.</p><p>"Yes, that – but there's more to it," Yinsen says quietly. "Abstergo scientists dubbed it<em> the Bleeding Effect,</em> and according to their notes, if it goes on for long enough, the Animus subject, in this case you, can start exhibiting the abilities and skills of their ancestors. There is even a theory that maybe one day someone might learn to visit their ancestors' memories<em> without </em>the use of an Animus, via the Bleeding Effect. And learn from them."</p><p>Desmond draws a breath, sighs, then considers it.</p><p>He… kind of does feel like he could climb the walls and stab people, but he'd figured that's just his general frustration with the situation. "Sounds like a long shot with a pitfall of insanity in between," Desmond comments.</p><p>"Well," Yinsen says, giving him a look. "You're already losing your mind, yes? So what do you have to lose that you aren't already losing? Why <em>not</em> go mad in style?"</p><p>Desmond isn't sure if the guy sucks at being reassuring or not. It sounds like a terrible idea to him, and he's not even sure how he would go about trying something like that. He doesn't exactly have control over the whole thing.</p><p>Though he did figure out how to skip time, thanks to waterboarding incentives, so… maybe there is a way.</p><p>"If I go mad and stab you or something," Desmond says warningly. "I just wanna say beforehand that I'm sorry. And I told you so."</p><p>"I promise I will be most understanding," Yinsen says magnanimously.</p><p>"Right. How does the Bleeding Effect work, then?"</p><hr/><p>Desmond learns to make progress. It's not exactly satisfactory progress, not according to the Ten Rings leader, but at least Desmond has something actually interesting to write down, other than, "Altair sparred with so and so, and assisted so and so in their task of doing this and that." The account of Altaïr's first assassinations gets a better reaction, as does the attack on Masyaf by a traitor turned Templar, though it's still not what the guy wants.</p><p>"You are getting closer," the guy says. "Work harder."</p><p>In the meanwhile, Desmond starts understanding Arabic. Not all of it, but a few words here and there catch his ear, as the terrorists talk among themselves, and Desmond finds himself knowing them.</p><p>"It must be working," Yinsen says, fascinated. "I did wonder – you understand Altaïr in the Animus, and those around him, yes?"</p><p>"I guess?"</p><p>"They cannot be speaking modern English, 800 years ago," Yinsen explains. "I wondered how the language would translate for you."</p><p>It didn't, Desmond realises belatedly. Altaïr has never spoken or even thought in any language Desmond would know – but he's never had any trouble understanding anything being said around the Assassin. "I guess it's because I'm – kind of in his head, and it's doing the translating for me?"</p><p>Yinsen hums, noncommittal, and glances at the Animus screens. "I suspect the act of resurrecting these memories, reliving them and experiencing them, is rewiring your brain – including the language centres of it."</p><p>Desmond looks at the screens. "If I forget how to talk in English, I'm gonna be moderately pissed," he comments. "But at least you will still understand me, right?"</p><p>"I should, at that," Yinsen agrees. "But perhaps preventive measures are in order. We must try and keep a separation between your abilities and the abilities of Altaïr."</p><p>"Right – how do we do that?"</p><p>"I… don't know," Yinsen admits.</p><p>Desmond makes a face at him, and then they both jump as there's a warning bang on the locked door, their guards letting them know Desmond's break is over, and either he gets into the Animus or they'd put him in it by force.</p><p>Yinsen squeezes his shoulder. "I will think about it," he says. "And go through the notes again, hopefully I will come up with something. Go on, Desmond."</p><p>"Going, going," Desmond sighs and gets back in the Animus.</p><p>It turns out that there's no time to think about it, though. While they've been stuck indoors, navigating the pitfalls of the Animus, outside the world had kept on turning – and the Ten Rings had moved to perform the hit they'd traded for Desmond. Only a hit is not what they do, precisely.</p><p>Ten Rings are nothing if not opportunistic.</p><p>Desmond comes to from a session from the Animus, with a dully throbbing head and the sense of <em>yeah, apparently you <strong>do</strong> know it when you see it,</em> to find Yinsen not anywhere near, and the room a bustle of activity.</p><p>There are three terrorists there, all down to their shirt sleeves – covered in blood. Along with Yinsen, they're working on something, some<em>one</em> that's lying on Desmond's cot, clothes torn open and bloody, their chest a gaping mess of –</p><p>Desmond sits up, and for a moment two visions fight each other – he sees an Assassin lying there, another novice, with an arrow embedded in their throat as a healer tries to remove it without killing the man, and Altaïr watches from afar, useless and unable to help. Then the image flickers to other people, people he can't identify – a dark-haired woman in a fancy dress, in Desmond's, no, in his <em>ancestor's</em> arms – not Altaïr's though, the woman's dress is from another time, later time. There's a fire, and people dying, his people, his family, his village, his mother – there's an Assassin with a gun, calling him a damned pirate, he's going to kill him, he <em>did</em> kill him, there's a –</p><p>Desmond bites back a groan as his vision splinters like shattered glass, and then there's a man there on his cot, and Yinsen is removing bits of bone from his chest, while around him the terrorists hold lights, or bags of blood, or tools…</p><p>"Suction," Yinsen says in Arabic, and one of the Templars drains the blood enough for the man to work. Every now and then, Yinsen digs out something metallic and drops it into a water glass.</p><p>Reality asserts itself and the flickers fade enough that Desmond realises that whoever it is on the cot, they've been in an explosion, and Yinsen is saving his life – and going by the armed guards by the door, the wounded guy is not one of theirs.</p><p>The terrorist leader is there too, watching, eyes burning. Spotting Desmond awake, his eyes narrow.</p><p>"I suggest you try making yourself useful, Mr. Miles," the man says and smiles. "It could be I will find I won't need you, after all. With him," he nods to the dying man in the cot. "I need no prehistoric weapons – I have now the maker of futuristic ones."</p><p>Desmond swallows and looks at Yinsen, working so hard to save the guy's life, whoever he is. "I saw it," he says. "The Apple. They found it in Jerusalem, in the Temple of Solomon."</p><p>The terrorist leader's eyelids flickers, widening and then narrowing in a quick succession. "It seems that fortune," he says, slow and satisfied, "is very much on my side, today."</p><p>Desmond grits his teeth, looking at all the gore happening on his cot. Whoever it is, it's obvious the Ten Rings had something to do with the state he's in. And the guy calls it<em> luck. </em>Right.</p><p><em>Right</em>.</p><p>Whatever happens, Desmond is going to learn enough Assassin skills from his ancestors so that he can kill these guys, sanity be damned.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In between painful flashes of awareness, shouting, distant voices and fever dreams, Tony figures out he's fucked somewhere between being blown up and waking up with a tube in his nose. Pulling the cannula out of his nose is probably not the smartest thing to open with, considering that his body feels like someone's taken a chainsaw to it – but it's a tube, going down his <em>nose</em>. He can't quite tell if it's going into his lungs or his stomach, is it feeding him or breathing for him, but it feels <em>vile</em>. So he digs it out.</p><p>Tony coughs and gags and almost throws up with the feeling of the cannula dragging up his throat, which, not, <em>not a</em> good feeling, that. Not a good feeling at all. Every part of him is in pain, but his chest especially – his chest feels like – like – the gagging is making him convulse and it feels like there's this gaping <em>weight</em> on him, pressing against bits that should not be feeling <em>weight</em> on them, and –</p><p>Tony claws at his chest with shaking hands, and the pain that sends through his whole chest is <em>blinding</em>.</p><p>"I wouldn't do that if I were you."</p><p>It's by far the worst awakening Tony has had – and he's got a <em>selection</em> of bad mornings. Morning after a near acute alcohol poisoning. Morning after someone he <em>really</em> liked stole company secrets from his bedside table. Morning after the drinking binge after the morning he learned his parents died. Morning after – yeah, no, this one beats them all.</p><p>Trying to piece it all together is a strain on his already confused, shaky mind. Everything is too much, he keeps remembering bits – like <em>hands in his chest</em> and <em>something that tore through his bulletproof vest</em> – and it's all just – it's a – fuck. He knows what it means when you see blood leaking through a bulletproof vest. He knows it's bad. He also knows what it means when you can <em>read</em> the name on the side of a bomb that's about to blow you up.</p><p>He got tagged with a bomb with his own name on it. Talk about fucking <em>irony</em>. How the hell is he still <em>alive</em>?</p><p>Focus, focus. What did Happy tell him about kidnapping situations. There was a list, he'd had a powerpoint presentation and everything. What was number one. Avoid the situation? Yeah, that's a bit late. Uh, make a scene to avoid the situation. Also a bit late… cooperate, was one of them <em>cooperate?</em> The hell… Notice everything, that was one, Happy was adamant about that one, notice everything.</p><p>Tony notices that his fingers are numb and he's really, really <em>thirsty</em>. He's also on a great deal of drugs, judging by the feel of his tongue and brain, and – ugh. Probably not the point of noticing everything.</p><p>"W-water," he croaks, anyway.</p><p>The man who spoke turns to him – Tony notices him, carefully. Tall, eastern? Glasses, suit, neat – was he shaving? He comes over and then picks up a water glass with a red and white straw on it, how quaint. "Slow sips," the man says. "You don't want it going down the wrong pipe right now."</p><p>Yeah, no kidding. Tony eyes him warily and then, as the man holds the glass to him so that the straw comes to his lips, he takes a drink. He should probably worry more about being poisoned and whatnot, but – fuck it. It's water.</p><p>Cooperate with kidnappers – right, because if you don't, they might kill you, or beat you. "Thank you," Tony says once he's done drinking, and it feels like he might pass out if he tries for more.</p><p>The man hums and sets the glass down. "Now, let's see about the damage," he says, and turns his attention to Tony's chest. His <em>chest</em> – and the thing embedded in it.</p><p>"What – what did you do to me?" Tony asks, choked, as he stares at the fucking <em>monstrosity</em> of engineering in his chest.</p><p>"What I did was to save you life," the man says, infuriatingly calmly, as he checks the damage around the mess of metal and wires, where the skin is bloody, sewn up, inflamed and <em>throbbing with pain</em>. "Not only did you have a badly fractured sternum, to the point that more of it was gone than there, you have a number of metal shrapnel pieces in your system now. This," he motions to the engine part in Tony's chest, "is an electromagnet, hooked to a car battery. It's keeping the metal from entering your heart."</p><p>Tony tries to form some sort of witty reply to that. Nothing comes. There's a damn <em>electromagnet</em> in his chest, and it's – in place of his sternum. The best he can manage is wheezy, panicked breathing.</p><p>The man considers the area around the thing and then reaches to take a tube of something. "Antibiotic ointment," he says, taking a swab. "With an analgesic agent. I didn't work so hard to save your life only for you to die of infection, hm? So please refrain from touching the area until the skin fully heals, alright?"</p><p>"W-why?" Tony asks, and his breath, he notices, steams. It's cold – he hadn't noticed it's cold, but now that he – yeah, it's cold. It's also completely irrelevant. "What – why did you?"</p><p>"Hm," the man answers while spreading the ointment. "I removed all the shrapnel I could, but most of it is too small to find," he says. "You would need a team of skilled surgeons, and even then you would be left with any number of metal shards inside you, and any one of them might be enough to tear through blood vessels of your heart and lungs. A magnet near enough to capture the shards and keep them in place before they enter either, I've found, is the best solution."</p><p>He finishes with the ointment and reaches to take a small phial from beside the bed. "These are the ones I removed, the ones I could find," he says, shaking the phial before handing it over. "A souvenir."</p><p>Tony stares at the phial, feeling a little like he's in a horror movie. The drugs really aren't helping him make sense of this, but... "Y-you've dealt with this before?" Tony asks, taking the vial in hand. There's a half dozen bits of metal there, and they aren't exactly small.</p><p>"I have seen a lot of wounds like this in my village," the man agrees. "We call it the walking dead, because it takes about a week for the pieces to reach your vital organs, and removing them is… effectively impossible. I devised magnets like these," he motions to Tony's chest. "Originally to try and attract the shrapnel for later removal. For you, I fear, it will be a permanent solution. And not only because the casing is now playing the part of your missing sternum. You were right in front of the bomb as it went off, weren't you?"</p><p>Tony swallows and leans his head back, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Jesus Christ.</p><p>"How are you feeling?" the man asks.</p><p>"Like death," Tony says. "Can I sit up?"</p><p>"I don't know – <em>can</em> you?"</p><p>Tony gives the man an incredulous look and then pushes himself up while the man steps back, smiling a little. Tugging the sides of his shirt shut over the <em>gaping fucking hole</em> in his chest, Tony looks around, shivering. The room is – it's not a room, really, it's a cave. It's been shaped with tools, there's a set of metal doors and the place is room-shaped, with corners and everything, but it's definitely a cave. There's even stone rubble on the floor, and pillars holding the ceiling up. There is a camera by the doorway, red light steady as it watches them.</p><p>They're not alone in the cave-room. On the other end, some six meters away, there's a guy lying in what looks like a dentist chair from a horror movie, asleep with a cradle of glowing electrodes around his head. Beside the dentist chair there's a desk with monitors, and they're connected to the chair with wires.</p><p>"Another Frankenstein experiment?" Tony asks, running a tongue around his mouth. His mouth tastes like a back alley of a bar, but… Computers – he could maybe do something with computers, if they're hooked into networks, if they're…</p><p>"Hm? Oh, never mind him – he's far away," the man says. "And I fear you have other things to concern yourself with, now that you are awake."</p><p>"What does that mean?" Tony demands – and as if in answer, they hear a <em>thunk</em> outside the metal doors, and shouting voices, and the locked doors being unlocked.</p><p>"That," the man says and his whole demeanour changes. "If you want to survive, do as I do, Stark," he says quickly, moving back to his side. "Put up your hands."</p><p>Tony coughs, wishing he had more water, or a shot of whiskey, or something to wash his mouth with. He puts his hands up, as much as he can with the <em>massive chest impediment</em> – and then the room is entered by a group of men with <em>his guns</em>.</p><p>And somehow, everything gets worse from there.</p>
<hr/><p>The man he's been imprisoned with – one of them, anyway – has to resuscitate him after the first bout of waterboarding. Tony isn't sure how he knows that, but somehow he does – though waking up with the man working on the wiring on his <em>chest electromagnet</em> is kind of a big clue. The man is also muttering something in Arabic, and it doesn't sound fit for polite society.</p><p>"Water and car batteries," the man says fatalistically, noticing Tony awake. "Not a winning combination. You will live, Stark, but if you want to keep on living, I suggest you don't provoke our gracious hosts further. Though I think I might have managed to explain the danger in that particular method of persuasion."</p><p>Tony draws a breath, feeling – shakier than before. He got shocked, probably. "S-sthat what you call it, persuasion?" he groans.</p><p>"It's what they call it," the man mutters and leans back. "They will try again, I fear, until you are forced to agree. They don't take a no for an answer around here."</p><p>"No kidding," Tony slurs and closes his eyes. "D'I get burnd?"</p><p>"No – fortunately, or… perhaps <em>unfortunately</em>, I suspected the possibility of contact with water and did what I could to insulate the magnet. You got a shock, but it wasn't too severe," the man answers. "However it made you inhale an amount of water, which then nearly killed you. Getting the water out of your lungs took some drastic measures, however, during which the wiring shifted. This won't take but a moment. Then another shot of morphine, perhaps?"</p><p>"… that'd be great, thanks."</p><p>There's a moment of quiet as the man finishes rewiring the electromagnet. In that time Tony thinks about his guns in the hands of people who waterboard other people. And blow them up. And kill them. There'd been deaths – he'd sort of… not quite forgotten, but he hadn't thought about it, but there'd been deaths, the convoy had been attacked, and – fuck, <em>Rhodey</em>… And it was a bomb with his name on it that blew him up, too.</p><p>"Who are they?" Tony asks, opening his eyes. "Who are <em>you</em>?"</p><p>"Ah, right. My name is Yinsen – we met once, actually, during a technical conference in Bern," the man says, offering him a smile while preparing the morphine shot. "Though I wouldn't expect you to remember, being as drunk as you were. As for them, well…" he hums. "They are your loyal customers, sir. They call themselves the Ten Rings."</p><p>Tony blinks at him and then forces himself to sit up, pain be damned. They're back in the cell, room, cave, whatever it is. "Never heard of them," he answers, running a hand over his face. They might've been in the security briefings before he took the damned trip, but…</p><p>"Not many have," Yinsen says. "Though, I fear, that might be changing, soon. This might hurt a little," he says then, holding up the syringe. "Ready?"</p><p>Tony hums in agreement and then looks to the other end of the room, where the third member of their jailhouse gang is still out cold. "Deep sleeper," he comments and tries not to wince at the pinch, concentrating on the guy on the chair. It doesn't look like he's even moved.</p><p>"The deepest," Yinsen says with a sigh, taking a swab and pressing it against Tony's shoulder as he pulls the needle out. "There. Don't try to sit up while it's taking effect, alright? Now, I should bring him back up, now that we have time to talk – he will want to meet you. You take it easy in the meanwhile"</p><p>Tony makes a noise of agreement, and as the morphine starts taking effect, making everything a little blurry and soft and the worst of the pain ebbs away, he watches as Yinsen moves to the computers, typing something with a few clicks and then hits enter. The change is quick – there's a sudden reduction of background hum, which Tony hadn't even noticed, and then the sleeping beauty on the dentist chair from hell lets out a slow sigh, his body relaxing.</p><p>Yinsen pours a glass of water, picks up a bottle of pills. "Two or one?" he asks, opening the bottle.</p><p>The man on the chair answers by murmuring something bleary in Arabic and by covering his face with his hands.</p><p>"<em>English</em>, Desmond," Yinsen says. "You must remember to speak English."</p><p>The guy, Desmond, peeks through his fingers and then tries again. "Sorry, Yinsen – one," he says and sits up slowly. "How long was I down?"</p><p>Yinsen checks the computers. "Seven hours and eighteen minutes," he says and while Desmond takes the glass he's holding, his hands shaking. "Good news," Yinsen says as Desmond washes the pill down with two gulps of water. "He's awake."</p><p>Tony rubs at his chest, meeting the guy's eyes. Desmond looks about as good as Tony feels – well, maybe better. Doesn't look like he's got a thing stuck in his chest, attached to a fucking car battery. He looks wan, though, his cheeks hollow and his eyes sunken in shadows. The guy looks like he's half starved.</p><p>"Hey, you look like hell," Desmond says, as Tony frowns at him. His accent is American – kind of nondescript, Tony can't tell where he's from precisely, but it's definitely from the States. "How are you feeling?"</p><p>"I just got a shot of morphine, I feel <em>great</em>," Tony says with a snort, as Yinsen disconnects Desmond's IV, which Tony hadn't even noticed before "What's your workshop of horrors deal, then?" he asks, looking between the chair, the computers, trying to make sense of what he'd just seen. Yinsen had woken the guy up with a computer program. Or by turning a computer program off. That's… that's new.</p><p>"The Matrix, except it sucks," Desmond says, looking down as Yinsen tugs his peripheral catheter under a bandage, gathering up the empty IV bag along with the cannula attached to it.</p><p>"Ah," Tony says, frowning. Looks like whatever is going on here, it's been going on for a while – Yinsen even has a whole mini-fridge of IV drips, tucked under the desk. "Well, this place looks the part."</p><p>Desmond snorts at that and then gets up, stretching his legs and rubbing at his backside. "Yeah," he says and then comes to offer Tony his hand. "I'm Desmond, kidnapped… uh," he stops and looks at Yinsen. "How long has it been?"</p><p>"Twenty-eight days," Yinsen says calmly while winding up the cannula. "For you, that is – four for him."</p><p>"I've been here for twenty-eight days?" Desmond asks at the exact same time Tony asks incredulously, "<em>Four</em>?"</p><p>Yinsen gives them both a look. "You've had extensive surgeries, Mr. Stark – you've been kept in a medical coma for most of it," he explains. "And you, Desmond, sleep most of the time. So yes. Twenty-eight for you and four for Mr. Stark."</p><p>"Jesus," Desmond says and turns to Tony, still holding his hand out to him. "So that sucks, but yeah. Hi. Welcome to our humble… abode," he says lamely. "I'm happy you survived, because it really didn't look like you would, for a while there."</p><p>"… thanks," Tony says, and shakes his hand. The guy has cold fingers – they both have cold fingers. It's cold in here. "Is it always so cold in here?"</p><p>"We are fairly high up in the mountains, and it is winter," Yinsen says. "So… most of the time, yes. I will start a fire."</p><p>Desmond sits down on the bench beside Tony's cot while Yinsen putters around with a literal bag of charcoal, and what looks like a fireplace made of a former car tire. Tony wants to ask if there's enough ventilation in this place for a fire, but – he isn't sure he actually cares. Everything sucks enough that adding smoke inhalation to the mix sounds almost like a welcome respite.</p><p>"Does that hurt?" Desmond asks, and Tony realises belatedly he's rubbing at the magnet.</p><p>The drugs are helping, but… "Yeah, it does," Tony answers, glancing down and then tugging the blanket up from the bed, winding it around his shoulders. "So, what do the Ten Rings want from you?"</p><p>"Alien mind control artefacts," Desmond says, huffing out a mirthless snort and sighing. "Though apparently what you can offer is better, which might be bad news for me."</p><p>"Alien – <em>what</em>?"</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond says and shakes his head, looking at him. "It's even more ridiculous than it sounds, trust me. What do they want from you – aside from money and ransom?"</p><p>Tony gives him a dubious look. Is he for real? "They want me to build them missiles," he says and looks up as Yinsen takes a plastic bottle and pours what smells like gasoline onto the charcoal. "They let you have gas in here?"</p><p>"Why not? What could I possibly do with it, that wouldn't harm myself and you?" Yinsen asks, and strikes a match. The charcoal catch immediately, fire flaring out, and Yinsen picks up a stick to spread out the fire with. "Desmond, you should write down your session while it's fresh in your mind."</p><p>Desmond sighs and runs a hand over his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he says and then pushes up to his feet. "I just wanted to say hi."</p><p>Tony watches as he meanders towards a writing desk and sits down, opening one of the many notebooks sitting there. Then he looks at Yinsen, wondering. He can't quite tell if Yinsen is for real or if he's some sort of… plant by the Ten Rings. He looks entirely too well put together to be a prisoner, and he seems to be on top of things a little too much. Could be a fake out – the terrorists putting one of their own in with the prisoners to learn their secrets. That happens, right? Or was that only in movies…</p><p>Yinsen meets his eyes and smiles. "It will be warmer soon," he says and looks away. "And it is getting late, which gives us a grace period. Tomorrow, they will demand you to comply again, Stark – are you going to refuse again?"</p><p>Tony frowns and looks down at the fire. The room isn't filling with smoke, so they have some air conditioning, at least. He's not sure that's a relief. He's not sure what to do here. Everything hurts, there's someone else's tech in his chest, he's locked up in a cave with people he doesn't know and can't trust and – and Rhodey might be dead.</p><p>He rolls his jaw and wishes dearly he had something alcoholic to drink. "Guess we will see," he mutters.</p><p>Yinsen hums and then puts the fire poker away. "In that case I will have my med kit ready," he murmurs. "Desmond, do you think you could eat now, or tomorrow?"</p><p>"Tomorrow," Desmond says, not looking up from whatever it is he's writing down. "I could drink something, if we have anything that's not water."</p><p>"We don't."</p><p>"Then I'll pass."</p><p>That's a no on the alcohol then, Tony muses, and tugs the blanket tighter over himself. Now that he's aware of the cold, he's also aware of what feels like the aftereffects of a fever – achy shivering is taking him over, and everything feels sharp.</p><p>Yinsen looks between him and Desmond and then shakes his head. "I will have my hands full with you two, won't I," he murmurs and then moves away, to dig something out of a box by the door. Tony glances at him and then stares dully at the fire, circling his fingers around the magnet and trying to think of something, anything, that's not just abject misery.</p><p>Then Yinsen brings him an armful of clothes. "They won't smell very good, but they should be warm," he says, spreading the clothes over the cot. "Your immune system is down enough – let's not tempt it with a cold on top of everything, hm?"</p><p>Tony gives him a look, but he's not contrary enough to turn down clothes. Yinsen is right though – they really don't smell very good at all. Insult to injury.</p><p>By the writing desk, Desmond finishes whatever he was doing and leans back. "So," he says and looks over his shoulder. "Missiles, huh?"</p><p>"Yeah," Tony agrees, pulling on a dirty hoodie and slowly zipping it up over the reactor. "That's what they want, enough firepower to level mountains." And cities. That was kind of the implication of the Jericho missile demonstration – <em>see what it can do to this mountain range here, now imagine what it can do to a city block</em>. Yeah.</p><p>"… and you can do that? Build missiles for them?"</p><p>Tony scoffs and looks through the rest of the clothes. "You do know who I am, right?" he asks. "Of course I can build missiles for them." There are fingerless gloves in the pile, nice. He can finally be the hobo everyone always wished he'd end up being. "With right materials, I can build anything," he mutters, pulling the gloves on and trying not to picture the layers of bacteria they're probably caked with.</p><p>Desmond looks at him over his shoulder and then hums. "Are you gonna?" he asks.</p><p>Tony snorts, but doesn't answer. Like hell he is. "Guess we will see that too," he says, casting a glance at the camera before picking out a woollen hat from the pile and pulling it on, too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enduring torture is… it's what it is. Desmond's almost used to it, except for the fact that he's really <em>not</em>. There's no getting used to it, no recovering from the feeling of <em>being almost drowned</em>. Having to watch someone else go through it, especially someone like Stark, who's already injured and in pain? Especially knowing all the drugs the guy is on because of the magnet in his chest. It's just…</p><p>"Breathe slowly," Yinsen says, while he and Desmond lever Stark up from the floor and into the nearest chair. "Water again? I really thought I got through to them."</p><p>"Yeah, no, they were really careful," Stark chokes, wiping at his face and pushing his sopping hair back. "Put a plastic apron on me to avoid splashing the wires and everything, it was practically cordial." He lets out a feeble laugh and Desmond grimaces, grabbing a ragged towel for him to dry himself with.</p><p>Yinsen checks the wiring regardless, clicking his tongue in disapproval before going to grab a stethoscope to check the man's lungs. "Cough," he says and judging by his expression whatever he hears is not good. "Hm," is all he says.</p><p>Stark looks at Desmond, accepting the towel and rubbing his face with it. "You're up and about early."</p><p>"Yeah, I – had to come up to get something down," Desmond agrees, glancing towards the writing desk and sighing. He has no idea how to <em>put it down</em> though. He's never been particularly good at drawing, and drawing maps is probably well beyond his capabilities.</p><p>"Learn something interesting?" Yinsen asks, putting the stethoscope away and checking the skin of Stark's chest.</p><p>"Yeah, maybe," Desmond says and his shoulders slump.</p><p>He'd seen it – more than seen it. The Apple of Eden – he'd watched Al Mualim use it, felt its power on Altaïr. The way it tried to bend his mind, the way it turned Altaïr's body into a rag doll pulled by invisible strings – add to that the illusions, the confusion, the explosive build up and crescendo of power… yeah. Worse thing is that Desmond is pretty sure Al Mualim only scraped at the surface of the thing's abilities.</p><p>And now Desmond has in his head a rough map of where a lot more of similar things are – maybe worse things. Raza would be pleased. Not that a global map will do much to pin point out their precise locations, but still. It will give Ten Rings places to start, and that's bad enough.</p><p>Desmond definitely shouldn't give it to them.</p><p>But at the same time, he's really tired of getting waterboarded – and hell, if him giving Ten Rings <em>something</em> will make them ease up even a little on Stark, then…</p><p>Stark rubs the ragged towel over his hair and sighs. "I'm gonna take a look at what they have," he says. "Supposedly they have supplies to build missiles with."</p><p>"So you're gonna do it?" Desmond asks, looking up.</p><p>Stark presses his lips together and looks down, lowering the towel. "I'm going to take a look," he says, tight.</p><p>Desmond turns away, looking down at his hands, his left hand, with all of its five fingers. With Altaïr so close to the surface, and with the death of Al Mualim still at his fingertips… damn. He can almost feel the weight of the Hidden Blade that's not there, like it should be there, like it's been there, even though he's never in his life worn one. His ring finger feels numb.</p><p>Altaïr would kill Stark, maybe. Or maybe not, but he would seriously consider it, anyway. As a weapons manufacturer, the man is indirectly responsible for a lot of death, and Altaïr had killed people for lesser reasons. Stark making missiles for terrorists… that's a lot of potential death of innocents. Altaïr might've weighed those innocents against Stark, and choose to err on the side of prevention.</p><p>Stark hasn't ever killed anyone with his own two hands, though. His aura under Eagle Vision shows up blue.</p><p>Desmond sits up. "You need anything, Stark? I gotta write down my session, so…"</p><p>Stark waves a hand at him and buttons up his shirt, as Yinsen finishes his inspection. "I'm going to lie down," Stark says, and does just that.</p><p>The mood of the room is tight – but it rarely is anything else. Even Yinsen doesn't seem to feel like trying to lighten it, while Desmond sits down to try and figure out how to write down the great revelation he saw, without giving the terrorists too much. He has no idea how to do that, but he has to do it somehow. After that, he needs to… to do something. Decide what to do.</p><p>If there even is anything he can do.</p><p>Rubbing a hand over his forehead, Desmond leafs through his almost full second notebook and then makes a face.</p><p>His previous session notes are in Arabic.</p>
<hr/><p>Stark and Yinsen are taken out, Stark to see what the Ten Rings have to offer while Yinsen translates. Desmond, in the meantime, comes face to face with the Ten Rings' leader, who comes to check on his notes.</p><p>"You saw a map?" Raza asks, reading the listed countries and rough locations Desmond had written down, in lieu of trying to draw a map. "And this map is of the locations of the Pieces of Eden?"</p><p>"From eight hundred years ago," Desmond mumbles. "Didn't see it for long, and the map wasn't exactly precise – it was the whole globe."</p><p>Raza glances at him and then looks at the notebook again. "Altaïr will have looked into it in more detail," he says then and sets the book down. "Now that he has the Apple, he will spend many decades studying it. You will follow him – you will learn what he learns."</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees, because what else can he really say. "Yeah, of course."</p><p>Raza rips out the page where Desmond had written the locations, and Desmond smothers a grimace. "Good," the terrorist leader says and folds the page up. "Keep it up."</p><p>Desmond says nothing, just waits until the man leaves with the page and then blows out a breath, running his hands over his face. No immediate order to get back into the Animus – he really must've done good this time. Or it might be Stark, complying with the terrorists' demands. If that even is what he's doing.</p><p>Desmond keeps his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opens them, the room is different. It's not the cave, but a room in the castle – in Masyaf. A bedchamber, large one with many beds – shared by the Assassins. Private rooms weren't really a thing in Masyaf, those were a kind of luxury their humble brotherhood didn't put stock in – even as a Mentor, Altaïr probably slept in a shared room.</p><p>There's a window that doesn't exist in the cave, and under it a pile of pillows where the Assassins relax, talk amongst themselves, sometimes read or care for their gear and weaponry. Outside the window there's a pole, for a quick and easy way out – Assassins being Assassins, the people of the castle were much more likely to climb the walls than take the stairs. Altaïr definitely did.</p><p>Desmond stares at the window from eight hundred years ago and the sky outside it. It looks so real and welcoming – but when he walks over to it, he's met by a solid stone wall, cold to the touch. Masyaf could get cold too – it was pretty high above sea level. Not this cold, though, at least not often.</p><p>Desmond thinks he could climb this wall. It's not very tall, but it's rough, there are niches and grooves there, and the ceiling above is uneven. There are more than enough handholds there. All he needs to do is fit his fingers into the grooves, and…</p><p>It seems so easy. His mind knows how to do it, because Altaïr knows how to do it, how to climb seemingly smooth walls without trouble. Still, he doesn't expect to actually be able to do it, because by this point he's been almost completely inactive for a month, with a severe case of malnutrition on top of it – he shouldn't have the strength for pull-ups.</p><p>"Desmond?" It's Yinsen – he and Stark are entering the room again, the door locking behind them. "What are you doing?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," Desmond answers, his fingers fitted into a groove on the wall as he pulls his weight up, just a little, until his feet come off the ground and he's just hanging there, on the very tips of his fingers – not even all of his fingers, just two on the left hand, three on the right. He automatically doesn't use the left ring finger, because it doesn't even feel like it belongs to him anymore. "I think this should hurt more."</p><p>"Climbing up the walls now, huh?" Stark asks, while Yinsen comes to Desmond's side. "You really are losing it."</p><p>Desmond draws a breath and pulls his weight up, until his chin reaches the level with his fingertips. It doesn't hurt, though it really should. He hasn't done rock climbing in <em>years,</em> but he knows the first few tries are agonizing. His fingers shouldn't have this kind of strength, and he knows the state of his arms, his body – the weight he's lost.</p><p>And yet it barely feels like a strain.</p><p>Yinsen watches him thoughtfully. "Fascinating," he says softly and then glances back – at the camera, constantly watching them. "But perhaps you should come down, Desmond."</p><p>Desmond frowns and then lets his weight drop, lowering his arms. Looking at his hands, he can see the effort in them – there are pale indents on his fingers from where he put pressure on them, and his knuckles are white with the strain. It should hurt, but it doesn't.</p><p>He meets Yinsen's gaze, and the man puts a hand on his shoulder, turning him away from the wall and towards Stark, who is picking up the blanket again and wrapping himself up in it. Stark is already getting lost in thought, staring at their makeshift fire pit, so Yinsen starts a fire and Desmond sits down to join them, still looking at his hands.</p><p>"So," Yinsen speaks after a while, once the charcoal is burning, and there's a point of warmth and light spreading in the room. "Did they have everything you need?"</p><p>He's talking to Stark, who rolls his jaw. He has that look on his face again – the one that gets you dragged out and dunked in a tub until you feel like you'll drown. Dead-eyed shell-shocked <em>fury</em>. "No. Yes," he says and blinks. "Not everything, the tools are – it's a lot," he says, and his fingers tighten on the blanket. "More than I thought."</p><p>Desmond, shaking his head, looks up at Yinsen. "What do they have?"</p><p>"I – couldn't begin to name them. They have set up a camp in front of the cave system, camouflaged, of course," Yinsen says. "Many tents have been pitched, and they are filled to the brim with an arsenal of Stark Industries weapons. Crates upon crates of them."</p><p>Stark's cheek flexes.</p><p>"The idea is, I believe, that Mr. Stark can break those weapons down, to build a better one – a Jericho Missile," Yinsen says and looks at Stark. "And he shook Abu Bakaar's hand in agreement."</p><p>Desmond tugs at his fingers and then puts his hands down on his lap. "Uh-huh," he says slowly. Stark's got a kind of crazy-eyed look going on, so it's hard to say if he actually agrees with… anything here. "And the Jericho missile is… what? A really big missile, I'm guessing, but…"</p><p>"It is the… best weapon Stark Industries ever built," Stark says flatly, with a slight curl on the side of his lips, which just makes him look crazier. "A medium range ballistic missile third the size of the most common average with half again the range – with twenty smaller warheads that can spread over the area as large as twenty square kilometres – and obliterate it."</p><p>"… Right," Desmond says. "Um, I don't know much about missiles, what does that – "</p><p>"One Jericho missile could level half of Manhattan," Stark says and shifts his gaze to him. "And anti-ballistic weaponry doesn't work on it, that's how I designed it. You can shoot it out of the sky, and it will come at you twenty times as hard."</p><p>"… <em>oh</em>."</p><p>Yinsen adjusts the charcoal and hums. "Quite the legacy," he says, glancing at the camera and turning his back to it. "And in the hands of people who will value it the most – put it into the greatest use," he hums. "Are you happy with that, Mr. Stark?"</p><p>Stark doesn't answer, just returns to staring, dead-eyed, at the fire.</p><p>Desmond looks down at his hands again and imagines a hidden blade on his arm. He can tell Stark isn't happy with it. Doesn't need an Eagle Vision to see it. "I… gave Raza locations to some of the artefacts – not precise locations, but... locations," he says and glances at Yinsen. "Altaïr saw a map of them."</p><p>"Will they be able to find them?" Yinsen asks, worried.</p><p>"I don't know. Doubt it. <em>Somewhere in </em><em>China</em> and <em>in the middle of the </em><em>Atlantic</em> isn't exactly driving instructions. But it might give them something to start with, location to research," Desmond says with a sigh and looks at Stark. "Might distract them for a while, especially if I find out more."</p><p>Stark blinks slowly and turns to look at him. "What are you <em>talking about</em>?"</p><p>Desmond shrugs. "The crazy Animus shit you don't believe in," he says and looks at Yinsen. "They do, though – Raza's used the Animus, hasn't he?"</p><p>Yinsen hums. "Not this one, but I suspect one in the past, yes."</p><p>"So he believes it works – and he thinks I can get him what he wants," Desmond says and turns back to Stark. "If – if we manage to do this right, maybe – maybe we can stall, somehow. Give you more time, give – give people more time to look for you. There are people looking for you, right?"</p><p>The guy is all the important things, after all. Rich, famous, involved with the military industrial complex, and a CEO of one of the biggest companies. That's pretty much all the things one looks for, in a kidnap victim – and since the guy <em>is</em> a weapons developer, the said military industrial complex would probably not want to leave him in the hands of their enemies.</p><p>"I'm sure they are," Yinsen says, while Stark chews on it. "But no one will find us here, in these mountains."</p><p>"They could," Desmond says, more optimistically than he really feels. "And you said it yourself – so as long as we're alive… there's a chance. We just need to make sure we stay alive longer, right? So, we… stall. As much as we can."</p><p>"I am… not sure they will stand for that, not for long," Yinsen says slowly. "But for a while it… might work."</p><p>Stark lets out a breath. "What's the point," he asks. "Why should I do anything – they're going to kill me, you, either way. And even if they don't, I'll probably be dead in a week."</p><p>His fingers are wound around the wires of the car battery, like he's half tempted to yank them out.</p><p>Desmond shares a look with Yinsen, who sighs. "Well, then," the man says. "This is a very important week for you, isn't it?"</p><p>Stark scoffs at that and looks down at the wires. He releases them slowly and turns to Desmond. "What <em>artefacts</em>?" he asks then, apropos of nothing.</p><p>"Oh, um. The probably alien artefacts I mentioned? Pieces of Eden – don't look at me like that, I didn't name them," Desmond sighs. "Altaïr got his hands on the Apple, and it sprung out a map on him – and from the stuff Al Mualim said, there's more of them, different kinds. I don't really know, okay? All I know is that they do things, and Raza wants them."</p><p>"Alien," Stark mutters and tugs the blanket over his chest. "Missiles and alien artefacts. Tell me about the Animus, what does it do?"</p><p>"Ask Yinsen, I don't know how it works," Desmond says, motioning to the older man.</p><p>"I – admit, I don't know much about it myself. I only followed designs and constructed the device as instructed," Yinsen says. "It produces a faint field of gamma radiation, I believe, and a modular electromagnetic field, which can manipulate brain waves – "</p><p>Stark stands up sharply, hauling the battery from the floor. Desmond and Yinsen also get up in wary alarm as the man heads over to the Animus, setting the car battery down beside the keyboard and sitting down.</p><p>"Please, please don't – change anything," Yinsen says quickly. "We barely got it working as it is."</p><p>"And I need my last session data, if I'm going to keep track of Altaïr – don't tamper with anything," Desmond adds.</p><p>Stark disregards them both, tapping a few keys and opening some kind of code window. "You used a pre-made hard drive?" Stark asks, watching as code scrolls down the black screen, frowning. "This came pre-installed, right – you didn't write these programs."</p><p>"Well, no – the computer parts only had to be put together," Yinsen admits, warily, and glances towards the camera. "I believe they were procured, somehow, from the original designers of the Animus – from Abstergo Industries."</p><p>"Abstergo? They're into pseudoscience these days, huh?" Stark mutters, squinting at the screen and then opening another window and doing something else, which goes completely past Desmond's – and judging by the looks of it, Yinsen's – head.</p><p>"What are you doing?" Desmond asks, worried. "If you mess with the Animus –"</p><p>"I'm just looking. The optimisation on this thing is a mess, no wonder it makes so much noise…" Stark mutters and tinkers with the Animus for a moment, ignoring Yinsen's and Desmond's wary, nervous hovering. "Did you hear about the guy," Stark suddenly says. "Bruce Banner, brilliant scientist, worked in gamma ray research."</p><p>Desmond shakes his head while Yinsen hums in recognition. "I have," he says slowly. "He went missing, did he not, a few years back?"</p><p>"Yeah, he did. An experiment gone wrong, or… <em>right</em>, depending on who you ask. The United States Army asked us, us being Stark Industries, to look into replicating his research," Stark says, still typing, his eyes keyed on screen. "Fascinating stuff – apparently good Doctor Banner got blasted with a massive dose of gamma radiation, experienced an equally massive spontaneous mutation because of it, and these days he turns into a great big green rage monster whenever he gets angry."</p><p>Desmond opens his mouth. "Wha –"</p><p>"Been a <em>big</em> fan of gamma radiation since," Stark says and narrows his eyes at the screen. "Keep up with all the latest research. And apparently this Animus of yours uses gamma radiation for genetic sequencing. Which, just a guess – not very good for your overall health."</p><p>Desmond sits down on the Animus, staring at him while Yinsen sighs, like he suspected it already. "Okay," Desmond says faintly. "What's it doing to me?"</p><p>"No idea," Stark says and turns around to look at him, wincing as the move pulls at his chest and covering the magnet with his hand. "No idea," he says again, a little strained. "But it seems like you're fucked too. How's that for an optimistic outlook? Casa de Ten Rings is looking better and better, isn't it?"</p><p>Desmond frowns. "All the more reason to – to do something about it, isn't it?" he asks, glancing at Yinsen and then back at Stark. "Or, what, are we just going to take this lying down?"</p><p>Stark snorts. "Is that a joke? All you do is <em>lie down</em>."</p><p>Desmond shrugs. "And apparently, <em>mutate</em>," he says and looks at his hands. So, probably not magical mind-over-matter powers, after all, thinking things making things happen. Just… radiation. "It's that kind of day, isn't it? That kind of week."</p><p>"Yeah, it is," Stark rubs at his chest, thoughtful, and then lowers his hand. "You still good to stall?" he asks and motions between the Animus and the computer. "Knowing this?"</p><p>Desmond looks at the Animus. "Fuck it," he says. "Yeah."</p><p>Stark nods. "Then no, we're not taking it lying down."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would like to direct your attention to the alternate reality tag. Some canon stuff is changed for reasons. Also I think in official MCU timeline Hulk stuff supposedly happened after Iron Man stuff, but I'm just gonna ignore that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for torture related near death experience</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony has a plan. It's a plan that hinges a lot on no one knowing what the plan is or giving it away, which when you're being watched constantly and shoved around being interrogated and tortured… yeah, that's hard. He's still not sure how well he can trust Desmond or Yinsen. Desmond seems alright, but Yinsen is still a bit too calm and a bit too well put-together for his tastes, and even if they're trustworthy, well… there's that torture happening, with promises of more, if they don't comply. What if he tells them, and then, when it's their head going under the water, they let it all spill?</p><p>So, it's all in Tony's head, the plan. He can juggle it easy, sure, he's had more difficult projects in the past, several at the time even. He's just… not done those projects under surveillance and threat of <em>death</em>, with a dead weight on his chest and constant nagging suspicion that the pain he's still experiencing is on it's way to becoming a <em>chronic condition</em>. Nor has he done any of his previous engineering projects <em>in a cave</em>, with barely functional tools and electricity that doesn't reach the right watts or amps for most of what he has planned. So there's all that.</p><p>Still, it's good to have something to do. And Yinsen, while Tony can't tell the guy what he's doing, is good to do some of the work, helping him break down the AF 76B missiles so that he can cannibalise their targeting system. Although Tony probably should've insisted on it being too delicate work for someone not familiar with the systems, in order to stall some more, some things concerning his plan are more urgent than others, and he needs the palladium sooner rather than later.</p><p>Making the arc reactor is going to take all week, and even if the deadline might've been of his own making, Tony's still going to hold onto it. He has a week to complete the arc reactor, and if he doesn't, he'll die. <em>Metaphorically</em>.</p><p>Desmond, in the meanwhile, keeps doing his gamma-radiation infused deep dives into pseudoscience.</p><p>"Perhaps I could be more of assistance if you included me in the planning process?" Yinsen suggests, watching him pull out another chip of palladium.</p><p>Not helping with the suspicion of terrorist-plant-hood there, old buddy. "Actually, you know what would help me more? Noise," Tony says, checking that he got all of the chip and then setting it to join the others. "I got music blasting when I work, helps me concentrate – the quiet here is driving me mad."</p><p>"I'm not much of a singer," Yinsen admits, awkward.</p><p>"Talk, then. Tell me about yourself," Tony says and sets the tools down in order to clean the scrap from the table in order to move onto the next one. "How'd you end up here?"</p><p>The first few days of the project pass like that, piling up the materials, collecting bits here and bits there. The fourth day Tony makes a mould for the palladium core, which takes all day to dry before he can safely fire it. While that's happening, Tony works on the socket, carefully measuring every damn gram of metal that would go into the thing. He also recreates the electromagnet – the one he has right now is too heavy, and the less weight he has to carry around <em>inside his chest</em> the better, really.</p><p>Yinsen gets a thoughtful look when he recognizes the electromagnet, but he doesn't say anything. Point in favour of him <em>not</em> being a terrorist plant, that.</p><p>Fifth day, Desmond gets up from the Animus after only a two hour session, puts his head on his hands, and groans with dismay.</p><p>"What?" Tony asks warily, and Yinsen looks up from the tool he'd been filing down for Tony. The noise Desmond is making doesn't sound pained – but it's definitely not a happy sound either. "Another bad one?"</p><p>"No," the guy bemoans. "The bloodline passed over – Altaïr conceived a kid with the Templar chick. I can't follow him anymore."</p>
<hr/><p>The whole Animus thing is – Tony doesn't believe it, not really. He might've never been that into biology, but he's pretty sure <em>that's not how human DNA works</em>. Like, yes, maybe parentage affects a kid's mind, maybe you can inherit stuff like inclinations and intelligence and stuff like that from your parents – creative people tend to have creative kids and whatnot. But memories? That's some bad sci-fi movie shit.</p><p>The worst thing is, Tony can't see the point. Yeah, alien artefacts from the past, sure, whatever – that's not exactly believable either, that's something you read in a comic book. If there has to be alien artefacts from the past to justify the purpose of the thing, then… then it's kind of pointless, isn't it. Take out the Pieces of Edam, or whatever, and what's the purpose of seeing into the past? Beyond understanding history – and there are no historians here. Why was the technology even invented? Just because it could be?</p><p>Okay, Tony could buy that, maybe. He's invented a bunch of stuff just because he could, and if that's the point, then more power to whoever made the thing. Beyond that, though… why? And why only reading supposedly ancestral memories? Why stop there?</p><p>If it really works the way Desmond and Yinsen say it does, then the Animus is literally a <em>brain-user-interface.</em> The things you could do with a literal brain interface are just – the whole concept is blowing Tony's mind a little. Gamma radiation aside, the Animus tech could be used for computer-to-mind-and-back communication and it's… not being used for that. Instead it's used to give Desmond some trippy dreams. And they're not even being recorded.</p><p>It just seems like a waste, is all. The kind of waste someone who's making up supposedly advanced tech for purposes of pretence might come up with, not thinking things through the implications when coming up with the said supposedly advanced tech.</p><p>So, Tony doesn't really believe in the thing. Or maybe he doesn't want to believe in it. He's not sure. Desmond does make it seem pretty believable, and watching him hallucinate and climb the walls and go into sudden tangents in Arabic and occasionally talk at the <em>thin air</em>… yeah. It has to be an act. Right? It's an act that doesn't make any damn sense, granted, but still… It's a bit much to believe that sitting in a dentist chair all day is making the man fluent in a language he supposedly didn't know before.</p><p>Tony figures it isn't an act when the terrorists throw Desmond into their room, dripping water from another date with the tub – and he's not breathing. Abu Bakaar snaps something at Yinsen in Arabic, dismissive, and pulls the door shut – and then it's a mad scramble to resuscitate the guy, Yinsen nearly knocking over Tony's work bench in order to get to Desmond, and to get the water out of his lungs.</p><p>Tony stands by and watches, frozen with shock, until Yinsen snaps at him, "Do you know how to do chest compressions?", and then he moves to help, dragging his car battery with him.</p><p>It's the most alarming two minutes of Tony's life. The reality of it's slow to dawn, and Tony moves on autopilot to Yinsen's direction – "... two, three, four…" and then a break as Yinsen tilts Desmond's head back for another breath.</p><p>Tony hadn't really… paid attention to Desmond, close up. Kind of wound up in his own horror show, plus his scepticism of the Animus, plus the still lingering suspicion that neither of these guys is really on his side, he hadn't bothered to really… care. They were nice enough, Yinsen and Desmond, but Tony didn't know them. They might be in the same situation, but trusting that to forge a bond, that's how you get screwed.</p><p>He hadn't realised how young Desmond is, under the beard, the shadows under his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks. The state the guy is, it makes him look older, but he's, what, just a little past twenty, maybe? In his age, Tony was still mostly concerned with getting himself as drunk as he could for as long as he could and not much else. He's got a nice bone structure, under all the grime and exhaustion.</p><p>Really, <em>really</em> not the time.</p><p>"One, two, three..." Yinsen says, and Tony does as told, counting the beats in his head, hundred per minute, as Desmond jolts under him and comes to, coughing. "Turn him to his side, quickly," Yinsen says, and between them they ease the guy to a recovery position, so that he can start hacking the water out – which he does in miserable, rough sounding coughs, his whole body convulsing with the force of them.</p><p>Yinsen rubs the guy's back as he coughs, fingers on his pulse, and Tony quickly grabs for the stethoscope, never far from them as Yinsen has to keep on checking for <em>his</em> heart several times a day. "That's it, that's it, just get it all out –" Yinsen says, pushing Desmond's ragged hoodie up so that he can get the stethoscope against his back. "That's it, that's it…"</p><p>Tony sits back on his knees and releases a breath. "So, uh. Not happy with the end of Alty's life, huh?"</p><p>Desmond coughs out a laugh and closes his eyes. "No," he agrees roughly. "Not happy at all."</p><p>Yinsen says nothing, listening to Desmond's lungs and heart silently for a long moment. "Stay down and keep coughing," he says then. "You still have water in your lungs. How does your head feel – do you see spots?"</p><p>"Don't see anything – my eyes are shut."</p><p>Yinsen snorts at that and runs his hand over Desmond's wet hair, pushing the short curls away from his face. "I'll take that as a good sign," he says.</p><p>Tony rubs his hands over his face and grimaces. So much for stalling, then, he thinks, but – that would be just about the shittiest thing he could say. "Now what?" he asks instead. "If – if they have no use for him –"</p><p>Yinsen makes a face and keeps stroking Desmond's hair, a sort of tender desperation to it that makes Tony's stomach twist painfully. Shit, he thinks, and then looks to the Animus. "Maybe there's another ancestor," he says then. "Maybe –"</p><p>"Another one with a Piece of Eden?" Yinsen asks quietly. "From what I know, these things are hardly common."</p><p>"Doesn't matter how common they are," Tony answers, already thinking fast. "Do you know how many ancestors the average person has? The answer is, all of them. Ancestry, when you go back, becomes an exponential curve, in theory it doubles every generation backwards, two parents, four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen… Alty was what, 800 years ago? That's an average of maybe 32 generations, you know how many potential ancestors that is, just in that time? More than were actually people living during that time."</p><p>Desmond looks up. "How many?" he asks, blinking.</p><p>"4.2 billion," Tony says and waves a hand. "Which isn't possible, yeah, a lot more cousins in people's family trees than people realise, and we're probably all related when you go back far enough, but – statistically, if there's more of these Pieces of Eden around, then… there's probably ancestors you have who handled them.</p><p>"Hmm," Yinsen hums. "Problem is finding them. Altaïr was something of a fluke, I'm afraid."</p><p>Tony is two steps ahead of that already, grabbing the battery and getting up to his feet, turning to the Animus. "If ancestral memories are in human DNA, then it's data, same as the rest of the stuff," he says. "DNA information comes in repeating patterns, and patterns can be recognised and pinned down. We just need to see what pattern a Piece of Eden makes in the DNA, and search for that."</p><p>"You – make that sound easy," Desmond sighs and lays his head down on the floor.</p><p>"That's because it is, when you know what you're doing," Tony says and sits down by the Animus computer, starting the thing up. "And whoever programmed this thing <em>didn't</em>."</p><p>While Desmond recovers and Yinsen does another check up on him, Tony pulls up the code for the Animus, and starts working. It's another thing to juggle, with already too many things he needs to be doing, but, hell. He's waiting on the kiln to heat up to the right temperature anyway, and that's going to take a while.</p><p>"You know," Desmond says tiredly from the floor. "If we all have that many ancestors, what are the chances of you having Assassin ancestors?"</p><p>Tony pauses between typing. "I'm sorry, <em>what</em>?" he asks, turning to look at him.</p><p>Desmond tilts his head up to look at him. "What, didn't we tell you? Altaïr was an Assassin," he says, while Yinsen gently lifts his head up and puts a blanket under it. "And I guess so am I, or I was supposed to be one, anyway. Kind of… got sidetracked from it, but… there's this whole bloodline thing. It's why they kidnapped me in the first place."</p><p>"Like you come from a bloodline of weapons developers," Yinsen says, stroking Desmond's hair again. "Desmond comes from a bloodline of killers. One could say you have something in common, there."</p><p>"Huh. It… must've not come up," Tony says, staring at him. "Assassin, huh. Ever killed anyone?"</p><p>Desmond lays his head back down on the floor and closes his eyes. "Not yet," he says and draws a slow breath, his hand clenching into a fist. "Not yet."</p><p>Alright then. Tony hums in thought and then turns back to the Animus, drumming his fingers against the desk. "Hmm," is all he says, before setting his hands to the keyboard again. Maybe he should've paid more attention to his cellmates, after all. Something to rectify once there'd be more time and less near death experiences.</p><p>For now, he needs to make sure Desmond stays useful enough that he won't get killed.</p>
<hr/><p>While Tony and Yinsen work on getting the makeshift kiln to get to the right temperature to melt palladium, Desmond tells them about the Assassins – about Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, and what little he knows about what came after. It's like something out of a high-brow history novel or something, just the sort of story Tony does not read. It turns back into B-movie sci-fi when Desmond starts talking about the Bleeding Effect.</p><p>"I feel like I could do the things Altaïr could, now. I mean – I can understand Arabic," he mutters. "I definitely couldn't do that, two months back."</p><p>"And speak it," Yinsen reminds him, while working the bellows steadily. "You've been speaking in Arabic sporadically, especially in your sleep." If you can call that <em>sleep</em>, Tony muses, though he's not about to criticise Desmond for his nightmares. It's not like any one of them sleeps soundly here.</p><p>"Oh," Desmond says dully and rubs his hands together. "Well… anyway. I feel like I could do stuff he could do, other stuff. Like climb buildings. Altaïr did that a lot, climbing buildings, it was a thing the Assassin's did. A lot of historical parkour."</p><p>"Can you?" Tony asks, while carefully placing the precious palladium in its tiny crucible.</p><p>Desmond sighs and winds his arms around his legs, hugging them to his chest. "Not exactly something that I can test here," he comments, looking around their room. "But – maybe. I feel different."</p><p>"So the Bleeding Effect is… indeed, taking an effect," Yinsen muses. "There is a way to test it, however – Altaïr had combat abilities, yes? As an Assassin, he would have to know how to fight."</p><p>"I think I will just get myself killed if I try to test those," Desmond says with a snort. "Though that's tempting."</p><p>"I don't mean you should fight our captors – but there's certainly enough here to perform katas," Yinsen muses. "Or something of the sort. You did write about Altaïr's training quite a deal in the beginning, I assume target practice was part of that."</p><p>Desmond lifts his head at that and makes a soft, "Huh," sound and looks around them thoughtfully.</p><p>"Don't start waving a sword around," Tony says warningly. "A lot of delicate science is happening here."</p><p>"Yeah, no, but…" Desmond trails away and then gets up. Tony glances after him as he goes to pick through the pile of mostly trash that's been shoved to the side, and then turns back to his work with the palladium. It's all ready, as is the mould – nothing to it now but get the kiln temperature high enough.</p><p>Desmond sets up a raggedy pillow to the one end of the room as a target, and then picks up a screwdriver on his way to the other end of the room, weighing the tool in his hand, testing the balance. Then, while Yinsen and Tony watch, he nails the pillow with the thrown screwdriver without so much as a practice shot – right in the middle.</p><p>"I need that, you know," Tony says, impressed despite himself.</p><p>"I assume you didn't practice throwing darts before?" Yinsen asks while Desmond stares at his makeshift target uncertainly.</p><p>"… no, I didn't," Desmond says and looks down at his hands. "Yinsen," he says then. "I… am malnourished, aren't I? I mean, I look the part, right?"</p><p>"Not sure that's supposed to be a question," Tony comments. "Or that you're supposed to sound like that's a thing you want."</p><p>Yinsen hums, "Can you take over the bellows?" he asks Tony, and as Tony takes up the air pumping, the guy goes to Desmond, checking his hands, his arms. Apparently there's something there to be found, because he hums, interested and worried. "Well. To be fair, with the amount of intravenous solutions I've been feeding you, the nutrition should be relatively balanced – you are getting all the minerals, proteins and vitamins you need, and your caloric intake should be good enough. I assumed, with your weight loss, you were having difficulties absorbing the nutrients, and that your digestive system was suffering. But… perhaps that's not it."</p><p>Tony cranes his head to see.</p><p>The wiry muscle definition on Desmond's arm is kind of freaky.</p><p>"It seems it's simply going… elsewhere," Yinsen says and looks to Tony, frowning. "Side effect of the gamma radiation – as well as the Bleeding Effect, perhaps?"</p><p>"Don't ask me, the whole thing is still pseudoscience to me," Tony says. But some mix of being constantly bombarded with <em>gene altering gamma radiation</em> plus going through your <em>genetic</em> memories – it could maybe explain it, if you use nonsense b-movie sci-fi logic. "Physio-gene therapy and exercise regimen à la Animus," Tony mused. "Just lay down and get fit. That'll be hell of a weight loss plan, if you can get rid of the side effects of <em>going slightly nuts</em>. You could make millions, if you could sell it."</p><p>Desmond snorts at that, though he still looks a bit freaked out. "I'll keep that in mind," he says and looks up. "If I ever make it out of here alive. And get like… legal identity and freedom to do things."</p><p>Tony makes a mental note to poke that statement with a stick later and checks the kiln temperature. It's finally about right, so he grabs the crucible and the tongs, and gets on with the project. "Yinsen, come here, I need you on the bellows."</p><p>"I can help too, just tell me what to do," Desmond says.</p><p>Between them, the arc reactor is ready in just two hours short of a week, with Yinsen doing the honours of pouring and Tony going about welding the thing together while Desmond mostly watches and does nothing. Everyone looks suitably impressed with the thing once it turns on, though Tony can tell they have no idea what it is. He's still tempted to keep it to himself, but…</p><p>If having Desmond nearly die and Yinsen resuscitate him back to life isn't enough proof of these guys being on his side, then nothing is. "Right," Tony says, as they stare at the glowing reactor. "Let's talk plans."</p><p>He needs to reprogram the Animus to get Desmond something useful and tempting to stall their captors with, he needs to cover up the working area so that he can build the thing in his head without anyone being able to tell what it is, and then he needs time to actually do the work. It would take months – two, if his calculation is right, and he doubts it is. There are those awkward delays of torture and near death that keep happening, after all. So, make it three months. </p><p>Three months until they get the hell out of here.</p><p>"All of us," Tony says, firmly.</p><p>"All of us," Desmond agrees.</p><p>Yinsen says nothing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"This is it," Stark says. "I mean, from what I can tell, you got more than a few people down your family line who handled Pieces of Eden, but this guy, whoever it is? He was all wrapped up with them."</p><p>Desmond can't make any sense of the data on the screen, but apparently it's his DNA, and apparently there's some difference between this cluster of random letters and that cluster of random letters. The whole screen is nothing but random letters to him, his whole DNA summarised in nothing but an endless unbroken wall of text formed of nothing but A T G or C. "Okay, if you say so," he says, shaking his head. "The fact that you can make any sense of that blows my mind."</p><p>"I can't – not really my area of expertise. But when you break it down, DNA is nothing but data, nothing but programming, and I know my programs," Stark says. "And if I am right about what the Apple of Eden did to Altaïr's genome, then this," he motions to something on the screen. "Means that this guy used one too – a lot."</p><p>"I'll take your word for it," Desmond sighs. "I just hope that it's enough."</p><p>"One way to find out," Yinsen says, rubbing his shoulder. "Are you ready?"</p><p>No, not really. Between being killed and being driven mad, going back into the Animus is just about the last thing he wants, even with the modifications Stark had made, which supposedly would run the thing smoother. But… what else can he do? He can't help Stark with the engineering like Yinsen does, he doesn't have the know-how, and if he's not useful as Stark's assistant, then what is even the point?</p><p>Desmond really doesn't want to die here, though. He doesn't want to be dragged back into the tub. He doesn't want any of it. At least in the Animus, he can trust that the horrors he'll see are long past and don't really affect him. It's not much of a comfort as he goes increasingly more <em>mad</em>, on top of whatever freaky stuff the radiation is doing to him, but… it's something.</p><p>Stark looks at him. "You don't have to," he offers. "We can maybe figure something else out."</p><p>Desmond blows out a breath and rubs at his neck. No, they wouldn't – if he's not useful to the Ten Rings, there's no point in keeping him. "It's alright," he says and sits down. "Put me under, then."</p><p>Stark really did make some modifications to the thing, huh. With Altaïr, Desmond had started in the guy's early twenties, when he was a novice, getting into fistfights. With Ezio Auditore, he starts with the guy's <em>birth</em>. And boy, isn't <em>that</em> a weird damn feeling.</p><p>At least Stark did him the favour of giving him better time controls, though Desmond has no idea how he did it or how they even work. It's like there's a fast forward, rewind, pause and play buttons in his head, and the moment Desmond has enough of Ezio Auditore down to have some control over the experience, he hits that mental fast-forward and skips ahead some. And then some more, until things start getting interesting.</p><p>Desmond is pretty sure the Auditore family are Assassins – at age of three Ezio didn't really understand what the white robes and hood his father wore meant as the man caught him almost tumbling over a roof ledge, but inside him Desmond sees the blades, the sword, the hidden blade, and he knows. So. That's something, at least – the kid is an Assassin.</p><p>"I fear you are going to be a <em>menace</em>, my son," Giovanni Auditore murmurs, and little Ezio grins, carefree and happy despite the fact that he almost ran to his own death, safe in the comforting blue glow his father is swathed in.</p><p>So, a kid of an Assassin, who activated the Eagle Vision at the tender age of three. Yeah, this is going to be fun.</p><p>Desmond finds himself quickly falling in love with the Auditore family – they're just so… compassionate in a way he's never seen anyone be. Beats the hell out of Desmond's own family, definitely – with actually loving, caring parents, and kids free to move about, explore, have adventures, make mistakes. Ezio's own, unbridled adoration for them is like a warm blanket, it covers everything, and compared to what Desmond's reality is like… it's impossible to resist it.</p><p>He's starting to enjoy this ride, when the memory shatters and he's dragged out of the Animus.</p><p>It's Raza, shaking him slightly, until Desmond's vision clears and the warm glow of Firenze is wiped from his mind, and the cold darkness of the cave reasserts itself.</p><p>"What are you doing?" Raza demands, in Arabic, while behind him other terrorists have Stark and Yinsen at gunpoint, keeping them back. "You finished your great mentor's life – what are you doing in the Animus?"</p><p>Desmond fights the flashback of the tub and the wet darkness that followed, chokes out, "Finding you another Piece of Eden," he grinds out, and between Raza's face so close to his own, the confusion of the interrupted memory and the Arabic, it's –</p><p>Ezio's thoughts were feather soft and light, full of child's optimism and fearlessness – Altaïr is like thing of <em>knifes</em> and hard edges, his mind as honed as his skills and just as ruthless, and he thinks, spitefully, <em>Abbas, you son of a dog, do you <strong>never</strong> learn. </em>He wishes desperately he had a weapon, and then he knows – Abbas carries a knife at his side, and Altaïr has the angle to reach for it, it would be easy, grab it and turn it on the man. He wears no armour, no mail, his strange clothes are no protection – If the blade was of sufficient quality and sharpness it wouldn't be difficult to sink it into the man's gut –</p><p>Then he is shoved back, and the Animus brings things, somehow, back into focus. "Who?" Raza demands.</p><p>"E-Ezio," Desmond stammers, wrangling back control from the confusion. "Ezio Auditore da Firenze – I don't know who he is, I just started, but I think –"</p><p>Raza knows the name – his eyes widen at the sound of it. "Ezio Auditore," the man repeats slowly. "You are related to Ezio as well as Altaïr?"</p><p>Desmond swallows, leaning back and away from the man, confused and alarmed. Raza knows of Ezio. That's probably not good. It's not the same way he knows Altaïr – it's not personal knowledge, he's only <em>heard</em> of Ezio. But that's bad enough – that means Ezio is known, Ezio is <em>famous</em>.</p><p>Raza steps back away from him, obviously re-evaluating whatever he'd been about to do. He turns to Stark and Yinsen, both of whom have their hands up – or up-ish. Stark can't really lift his hands, with the reactor. "Well," the terrorist says in English. "This is a turn of events. Relax," he says, and Stark lowers his arms a little. "Seems you have done me a favour, Stark."</p><p>Stark meet's Desmond's eyes and says nothing, swallowing, as Raza looks at the arc reactor glowing in his chest, tugging at the shirt Stark wears to see it better.</p><p>"Once, bow and arrow were the pinnacle of weapons technology," Raza speaks, still in English as he considers the reactor. "They allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to Ukraine. An empire twice the size of that of Alexander the Great, and four times the size of the Roman Empire. Do you know what happened to him?"</p><p>Stark doesn't answer, staying very still, barely breathing.</p><p>"He was killed by an Assassin," Raza says, almost amused, and looks at Desmond. "By Darim Ibn-La'Ahad – Altaïr's younger son."</p><p>Desmond frowns at that, looking at Stark.</p><p>"Then, one day, the greatest weaponry became firearms," Raza continues and steps back from Stark. "And money, and religion and influence, and the Borgia wielded them all, in 16th century Rome. Do you know what happened to them?" no one answers, not that the guy seems to expect it. "They were killed by an Assassin. Ezio Auditore da Firenze."</p><p>Oh.</p><p>"And today," Raza says, looking between them. "Whoever holds the latest Stark Weaponry rules these lands. So what does this say about our young Mr. Miles?"</p><p>Desmond draws a shaky breath. "I've done nothing but what you told me to," he says through gritted teeth, and tries not to look at the knife at Raza's waist. Part of him wants to reach for it <em>so badly</em>.</p><p>Raza looks at him and then at Stark. "You think I can't see you scheme? You thinker with the Animus and build yourself a battery," he says. "When I ask for <em>missiles</em>."</p><p>"I can't work hooked to a car battery, this one will give me better range of motion," Stark says tightly, meeting Desmond's eyes. "And Desmond just wants to live. Give the guy a break."</p><p>Raza narrows his eyes, quiet for a long, dangerous moment and then points a finger at stark. "You have a week to build my missile," he says and turns to Desmond. "And you have a week to find me an Apple of Eden."</p><p>Desmond nods and Stark, now completely pale, murmurs. "You got it."</p><p>It's a long, tense moment as the terrorists file out of the room, during which time Desmond barely dares to breathe. It's not until the door closes and is locked after them that he dares to relax.</p><p>"Shit," Stark says, succinctly.</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees, swallowing.</p><p>"Can you do it in a week?" Yinsen asks quietly.</p><p>Stark opens his mouth and then closes it, pressing his lips so tight together they turn white. He doesn't say anything, but obviously he doesn't think so.</p><p>"Well… shit," Desmond says, his shoulders slumping. Well, that kind of puts a damper on the warm glow of young Ezio's life, doesn't? "I, uh. I guess better get back into the Animus?"</p><p>Stark doesn't answer, and neither does Yinsen. Desmond doesn't know what to say, so… he gets back into the Animus.</p>
<hr/><p>Ezio is trying to run, pushing into a crowd trying to get to through, desperately, trying to reach the centre of the square, the gallows, where his Father and Brothers are hanging – somewhere he knows he's too late, he's always going to be too late, but he has to try, he has to fight through it, has to – and then, just as he draws a sword to fight the awaiting guards… the memory begins fading.</p><p>He's Desmond again, and there's a hand on his shoulder, and someone is shushing him. The room is dark. Everything is quiet. It's Stark who brought him up, Desmond knows that even before his vision fully clears – there's an arc reactor glow on him, he can <em>feel</em> the thing against his shoulder, a weird not-warm-not-cold glow.</p><p>"Hey," the man says, in barely a whisper. "Don't make too much noise – I'm pretty sure that camera doesn't have heat vision, but there might be someone outside the door."</p><p>Desmond frowns and then turns slowly to face the guy – Stark is leaning over him with him, wrapped up in a blanket. The guy has that crazy eyed look about him again. "What's up?" Desmond asks quietly and glances over Yinsen's cot, frowning. The guy is asleep. It must be pretty late.</p><p>Stark follows his gaze. "Is he on our side?"</p><p>That… well, guess that makes sense. Stark doesn't have Eagle Vision, and Yinsen does kind of send mixed signals. "Yeah," Desmond says. "He is. But I'm also pretty sure he's suicidal."</p><p>Stark blows out a breath. "<em>What</em>?"</p><p>"His family is dead – the Ten Rings killed them when they grabbed him from Gulmira. He doesn't think he's going to get away from here alive," Desmond explains. "I'm not sure he wants to, either."</p><p>"That's not what he told me," Stark mutters, frowning.</p><p>Desmond shifts on the bed, shrugging. Yinsen hadn't exactly told him either, but… Altaïr had seen people driven to a similar point, and Desmond can put the signs together now. There's this serene acceptance that comes over people who have nothing left to lose – and Yinsen's got it. Desmond's almost jealous of him for it. Of all three of them, Yinsen is the only one who isn't scared, and doesn't fear death.</p><p>It looks peaceful.</p><p>Stark lowers his eyes for a moment and then looks at him. "I can't make the armour in a week, I can barely do anything in a week," he says bitterly. "And I sure as hell am not making them missiles."</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees quietly. "I figured."</p><p>"Can't trust them to keep any sort of schedule, any moment they might pull the rug from under us. But I have an idea," Stark says. "It's a stupid idea, probably but… it's an idea. I can't make the power armour in time, but I can still make <em>an</em> armour. For you."</p><p>Desmond blinks and then almost sits up, before Stark pulls him down. "Ssh," the guy says and leans closer. "You're getting stronger, right? The Animus is making you stronger. So, is it making you <em>superhuman </em>strong?"</p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Desmond asks, confused. "What are you even –"</p><p>"Gamma radiation – the research, it goes back decades, back to World War II," Stark says. "It was used in Project Rebirth too – that's where Banner got the idea, that's where his research started from – early supersoldier trials, Captain America and all that. Now you're here, dosed up with low levels of gamma radiation, and you're – you're changing. How strong are you getting?"</p><p>"I, uh – I don't know? I haven't exactly checked," Desmond admits, frowning. He's not sure he <em>is</em> getting stronger, or if he's getting somehow <em>condensed</em>. His whole body is… he has no idea how to even put it. Losing its softness? It really is like somehow being in the Animus is a full body workout, he comes out of it mentally and physically <em>exhausted</em>. It's definitely not making him buff, though – more wiry, really, burning through all his fat and leaving him skinny.</p><p>Stark licks his lips, thinking. "Can you check?"</p><p>"What, <em>now</em>? How?"</p><p>Stark looks away and then motions him to slip out of the Animus, which Desmond does, silently getting to his feet and then shivering as the cold of the cave hits him. Together they sneak to the other end of the room, where there are boxes and boxes of missile scrap from when Stark had pulled out the palladium from them.</p><p>There are also all of the missile casings – all eleven of them. Stark's gotta be kidding.</p><p>"Stripped down like this, with all the fuel in them, one of these weights…" Stark does a quick mental calculation. "About a thousand pounds."</p><p>Desmond gives him a wide eyed look.</p><p>"Okay, nine hundred and fifty seven point eight," Stark says. "I was rounding for simplicity's sake. Why do you think we needed a pallet jack to move them inside?"</p><p>"And you expect me to be able to <em>lift</em> the damn thing?" Desmond hisses. "With my bare hands?!"</p><p>"Shh!" Stark hisses. "Just try it!"</p><p>Jesus, this guy. Desmond looks at the eight foot long missile casing, shaking his head. He's not sure how much weight he's lost in captivity, but he's definitely lost a whole bunch – and Stark thinks he can dead lift fucking <em>thousand pounds</em>? "You're crazy, man," Desmond says.</p><p>But, at Stark's urging, he crouches by the shell and then wiggles his fingers under it, honestly not expecting to be able to even budge it.</p><p>Except he <em>is</em> able to budge it. Not by much, granted, but, it's not like he can just hoist the thing up like it weighs nothing, but he can make the thing <em>move,</em> and that's already more than makes any sense.</p><p>"Okay, you can stop now," Stark says, watching him while Desmond lowers the missile back to the ground, trying not to make a noise. "Okay, okay, that's – at least two hundred pounds, you could lift two hundred pounds, no problem?"</p><p>"I – don't know?" Desmond says, wide eyed. He hasn't done any lifting in <em>years</em>, not since he left the Farm, he can barely put the weight into perspective. He thinks it's more or less a normal weight for someone who does lifting to manage, but… he hasn't been doing any lifting lately. <em>Jesus</em>. "Maybe?"</p><p>Stark nods, thinking. "I can <em>definitely</em> make a full body armour that weighs around that much," he says and meets Desmond's eyes. "It wouldn't be powered, I don't have the time to put in all the bells and whistles I wanted to. But it would be bulletproof."</p><p>"Okay," Desmond says, wide eyed, not quite following.</p><p>"If I did," Stark says, meeting his eyes. "If I got you armour, made you weapons, made you<em> bulletproof</em>… could you bust us out of here, using whatever you've learned in the Animus, that – Bleeding Effect stuff. Could you?"</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Desmond looks down, thinking about it – thinking about all the terrorists he's seen. There's at least thirty of them, maybe more – and people come and go all the time, there might be more or less. A lot of weapons, ammunition… "I don't know," Desmond says. "I didn't – I didn't exactly go through Altaïr's life trying to learn his tricks, but…" but maybe he could do that with Ezio – intentionally trying to <em>learn</em> what he knew, master his skills, his abilities. If the guy is as famous an Assassin as Raza said… he must've been good. Hopefully as good as Altaïr.</p><p>He meets Stark's eyes. "I'm not sure," he says again. "But I can definitely try and kill as many of them as I can before they kill me. Not sure it's gonna be enough, but…" but it would settle the score a little.</p><p>And Desmond <em>really</em> wants to settle the score, <em>more</em> than a little.</p><p>Stark's cheek flexes, and he looks away, guilty and still thinking, running a hand over his bearded chin. "I really wanted to make that armour," he mutters bitterly, rubbing at his chest. "<em>Shit</em>."</p><p>Desmond looks at him uncertainly and then reaches over to place his hand on the guy's shoulder. "Hopefully you'll still get to," he says. "I really wanted to see it too, it was going to be awesome."</p><p>Stark looks at him and nods. "Sorry about putting this on you. But with the reactor, I can't – I can barely lift twenty pounds, never mind a full suit of armour, that's why I wanted to power the damn thing," he makes a face, shaking his head. "And if Yinsen is suicidal, then… " he trails away. "I don't even know you, and I'm asking you to probably die for me. I'm sorry."</p><p>"Then make me a really good armour so that I don't, and I'll call us even," Desmond says and then, trying to lighten the mood, adds, "And if we survive this, I could do with a bit of cash too, for services rendered. You got some of that, I hear." He personally is all out. Probably won't even have a job, anymore, what with an over a month of absence.</p><p>Stark snorts and sits down on the floor, hugging himself for warmth. He's quiet for a moment, thinking. "You said once, you didn't have a legal ID?" he says. "What's that about – an Assassin thing?"</p><p>"Well. Kind of," Desmond says, and after a moment of hesitation sits beside him. "I grew up off the grid, in this commune of Assassin families – most of them illegal. I don't even have birth records."</p><p>"So you really were <em>born</em> in the whole thing?"</p><p>Desmond shrugs, pulling his sleeves over his fingers and then tucking his hands into his armpits. "Yeah. Not that I knew anything about it back then – not really, anyway. We – me and other kids – were trained from early on, so that we'd become Assassins eventually, but we weren't really told much. And then I ran away," he says and sighs. "So, yeah, no legal ID."</p><p>Stark nods, saying nothing for a moment. "I'll get you one," he says. "Once we get out of here. I'll figure it out, get you an ID, work it all out. And then you come work for me – Yinsen too."</p><p>"Hm," Desmond answers. "About that."</p><p>Stark says nothing as Desmond explains about Abstergo, how they're probably looking for him for similar reasons as the ones Ten Rings found him for. "So, if I go out, show my face, I guess I can expect to be kidnapped again. Hell," Desmond says. "Ten Rings even traded a hit for me. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy for a while, like I was <em>special</em>. Granted, that was before the torture and near death experiences started. Which actually…" he trails away and turns to look at Stark with a sudden realisation. "Uh."</p><p>Stark leans his head back. "A hit," he says. "They traded a hit for you?"</p><p>"Yeah – with some business partner of theirs," Desmond says, watching him. And considering the state of Stark when they brought him in... "I – think the hit was on <em>you</em>."</p><p>The billionaire is quiet for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he looks behind them – to the pile of missiles they're leaning on. Stark Industries missiles.</p><p>"Son of a bitch," Stark murmurs, very quiet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony is getting out of here. That's all he can think of, all he <em>will</em> think of now – he is getting out and he's taking these guys with him, one way or another. Though maybe at this point it's actually <em>Desmond is getting out and Tony and Yinsen are going with him</em> but that's just semantics. The point stands.</p><p>There's no time for anything else. A week would be plenty of time to make a little thing of metal with no electronics back home, with all the resources and tools therein… but learning what amounts to medieval armour crafting in a cave from scrap while having to actually also <em>forge</em> a functional full body suit of armour… it's a lot more nuanced than Tony had realised. It has to be bespoke, after all, or else it would just hinder Desmond, slow him down, get in his way. That wouldn't have been a problem with motors and hydraulics to move the thing. The powered armour could've been as clunky as it liked, it wouldn't have mattered... but this one isn't powered. All there would be for power is good old human muscle.</p><p>"So close isn't enough – it has to be <em>perfect</em>," Tony mutters, while taking measurements from Desmond, who's again locked up in the Animus, breathing slow, eyes moving under closed eyelids.</p><p>"So it does," Yinsen agreed, watching him while hooking Desmond up with another nutrient line on his tattooed left arm. He's giving Desmond double the IV solutions now, and will probably end up tripling it soon – with the speed Desmond is burning through calories all the while <em>doing nothing,</em> he really is fast approaching starvation.</p><p>Tony measures the arm around the IV line, carefully keeping his body between Desmond and the camera watching them, trying to make it seem like he's just checking for something. Desmond's skin is cool, his hand unresponsive when Tony moves it to wind the measuring tape around the wrist.</p><p>"It scares you, doesn't it – having to rely on another," Yinsen comments.</p><p>"That's not –" Tony says and presses his lips together to bite back the rest.</p><p>"Or is it Desmond you're worried about?" Yinsen says. "Asking someone to put their life on the line for you, with every possibility of them dying?"</p><p>Tony glances at him and then down at Desmond again. There's an implication in that sentence – or maybe it's just… Tony, thinking back. When the attack had happened on the convoy, there'd been soldiers there, men and women, whose jobs had been to protect him – who'd died, more or less, for him. Maybe Yinsen knows about them. Tony had been trying not to think about them.</p><p>The plan he had, it was…  <em>fine</em> when it was going to be him in the armour. If it blew up on him and killed him, then so be it, he built the thing, so taking it out was his risk to take. Putting anyone else on the line had <em>not</em> been part of the plan. Now… If something happened to Desmond, it would be because Tony didn't make him a good enough armour. And that's the kind of hit to his pride Tony isn't sure he can take at this point.</p><p>"Stark Industries prides itself on safe testing," Tony says distantly. "Haven't lost a test pilot once since I took charge. Not about to do it now either." He's quiet for a moment and then shakes his head. "We're all getting out of here alive. That means him and me and you too, Yinsen." So it has to be perfect.</p><p>Yinsen hums and says nothing – and now that Tony knows, that silence is telling.</p><p>"We need you," Tony says, not looking at him. "We need to figure this Animus stuff out, and I don't know how the thing was built. And you need to fix up my chest."</p><p>Yinsen sighs. "Stark –"</p><p>"Nuh-uh, not taking no for an answer. There's a job at Stark Industries with your name on it, head medical advisor, and maybe one day head of Stark Industries medical branch, whatever, it's yours – and all the perks that come with it."</p><p>"I am not sure I care for perks, to be honest," Yinsen says, clearing his throat.</p><p>"One of them is health insurance. Ours covers mental too," Tony says, moving back to his work bench. "We hire a lot of ex-military, a lot of vets. Therapy has been a big hit."</p><p>Yinsen snorts at that and shakes his head, but he seems to be thinking about it at least.</p><p>Then… they forge. They cover all the surfaces with bits of missiles and other important looking scrap to cover what they're actually doing, moving bits around and even faking some soldering every now and then, but mostly they forge, with every piece they make matched exactly to Desmond's body, every piece fitted perfectly. It's not pretty, making armour out of missile casings couldn't ever be anything other than ugly as hell, but it would damn well be functional.</p><p>Desmond in the meanwhile stays in the Animus, pretty much around the clock – his choice. "I cannot get much rest sleeping, as it is," he mutters. "And if I am going to get anything out of Ezio Auditore's life, I cannot waste any time. I am sorry about not aiding you with the work you do up here, but…"</p><p>It would be a little more reassuring if he wasn't speaking fluent Italian as he said it, even if Tony can at least understand Italian. Desmond sounds like a completely different person when he speaks another language though – even the pitch is different. It's, ah… it's a little unnerving.</p><p>"I have to warn you – though the Animus seems to resemble REM sleep, it's not," Yinsen says, once Desmond is back to English. "I can't say what going through around the clock sessions will do to your psyche. Nothing good, I'm sure."</p><p>Desmond hesitates and then sighs. "I had a month with Altaïr," he says. "I learned to handle it. Sort of. And it's not like I have a choice here – I gotta get them <em>something</em>. And I gotta learn Ezio's skills," he says, and then, when Yinsen hums worriedly, he clarifies, "I <em>want to</em> learn Ezio's skills. He's… really good."</p><p>"Well, that's…" Yinsen says and sighs.</p><p>"Going mad in style, right?"</p><p>Yinsen doesn't seem particularly comforted by that. He doesn't argue though – can't, really. They can already see the results of Desmond going at it a bit more seriously – the muscle mass he didn't put on reliving Altaïr's life? He's definitely starting to get it from Ezio. Apparently the guy was a bit more built up – and also used to doing parkour in an armour, so… It seems like fate, really.</p><p>Tony clasps Desmond's shoulder – which feels, while not exactly <em>wider</em>, less bony under his hand. "I'll get you a shrink when we're out of here," he promises. "And you too, Yinsen. Therapy and psychiatric care and TLC for everyone. It'll be a blast."</p><p>Desmond laughs at that, and Yinsen sighs and seems to give up. "Take a break every eight hours, even if just for fifteen minutes," he says to Desmond. "And if the side effects grow worse…"</p><p>"I'll let you know," Desmond promises.</p><p>"Great," Tony says and squeezes Desmond's shoulder. "Right. Now, let's talk weapons."</p><p>Tony and Yinsen work almost around the clock too, to finish everything as fast as they can. The complexity might not be a problem, the tech they're working on now is pretty much from the dark ages… but there's a lot of it to hammer out.</p><p>Armour: chest plate, back plate, shoulder guards, collar that goes high, helmet with a face plate that goes low, waist guard, which Tony doesn't know the name of, but which took most of the day to make flexible. Armour over the upper arms and elbows, guards for lower, gloves, and bracers over both, because by that point Tony had already made the gauntlets, and it's easier to fit the hidden blades over existing plates and beef them up rather than start from scratch. Skirt of metal around the hips, because that's just easier than trying to shape stuff around the groin area without the risk of giving poor Desmond impromptu castration, and then all the metal to cover the legs, Tony has no idea what to call any of it, but the bits of metal goes from thighs down to Desmond's ankles and covers most of the feet too, all interlocking plates, every inch covered up.</p><p>Weapons: thirty throwing knives made by casting because it's faster, they're not perfect, but they're balanced, and Desmond can throw them accurately. A pistol for the left bracer and a dart launcher for the right – Desmond wanted a crossbow, but Tony had to put a foot down somewhere, so a launcher that shoots four inch metal darts instead. A sword, because… of course, and a dagger too, for a good measure. And of course hidden blades for both bracers, built to a literal 16th century design, which Desmond recreated from genetic memory.</p><p>"I feel so <em>medieval</em>," Tony complains quietly. "At least promise me you will grab a machine gun when it all goes down. There's not exactly a shortage of them here."</p><p>It's the middle of the night, and they've turned the lights off again – the only time they can move about and test things safely, when the camera can't see. Of course Tony can barely see either, but… Desmond doesn't seem to mind.</p><p>"I don't know how to use a machine gun, Stark – I barely know how to use this," Desmond says while testing the weight of the pistol-adorned bracer, aiming with it in a way Tony has never seen anyone do. "Pity I can't test this. I'd like to know the accuracy."</p><p>"I built it – trust me, it's accurate," Tony huffs.</p><p>"Okay, the aim – whatever you call it. I wanna know where I can expect the bullet to go," Desmond shrugs, and with a sudden uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, Tony explains to him how to aim with the thing. "Oh, okay," Desmond murmurs, sighting down it. "Hm."</p><p>"This is a terrible idea, I have <em>so many regrets</em>," Tony sighs, running a hand over his face while watching as Desmond tilts his hand back and the hidden blade springs out. "I could make a better version of those, you know – longer, less flimsy, make the blade thicker. Like this they're probably gonna snap the first time you use them. Or bend."</p><p>"Don't diss Leonardo's design," Desmond says, snapping the blade in and out, in and out. "The blade is thin because you need to get it through gaps in armour, and those are historically kept pretty small. Also getting through bones, ribs, vertebrae… You put a lot more thrust in this than he did though, damn."</p><p>"Enough to punch through a stab vest," Tony agrees, making a face. Ribs and vertebrae, huh? Guess that's Assassins for you. "Not that I think anyone here wears a stab vest – they'll be wearing bulletproof vests, if anything. The blades are probably not strong enough to get through those, is that going to be a problem?"</p><p>"Not planning on aiming in central mass, so, no," Desmond says calmly and takes the thing off. "This is good, Stark. Really good."</p><p>"Of course it is, I built it," Tony answers. "The fit was alright?"</p><p>"Yeah, it's perfect," Desmond agrees and looks over the other armour bits, which they've already tested. They're almost ready now. "There's another thing I'd like you to make if you can," Desmond says then, turning to look at him. "Though I think it won't be too much of a problem for you."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Smoke bombs. Ones I can just throw and they'll go off, they don't need to be special."</p><p>Tony sighs with relief. Thank god, something more modern. "Yeah, that won't be a problem, I can knock those out in like half an hour. So it's all good, this stuff – it works for you?"</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees and lifts up the helmet faceplate. "Yeah, this works for me."</p><p>Tony nods and fiddles with the bracer. One more day and their deadline would be done. "And, on your head – how's Ezzy's life going?"</p><p>Desmond licks at the scar on his lips and leans back. "Well. He just got his hands on an Apple of Eden," he says uncomfortably. "So it's definitely getting somewhere."</p><p>Tony looks at him. "You don't sound sure."</p><p>Desmond grimaces. "I'm skipping a lot – concentrating onto his assassinations and fights, the things he was capable of doing physically, trying to get what he knew down as fast and as good I can. I feel like I'm missing half of the important stuff, though."</p><p>Tony hums. He wouldn't know, but Desmond had been looking more stressed about it lately. Though the fact that he's not <em>sleeping</em> is probably not helping. "But you're going to be ready – you're going to be able to pull this off?"</p><p>"I'm damn well gonna try," Desmond says and runs a hand over his forehead. "But I think afterwards those side effects Yinsen talked about? I think I'm going to have to deal with those."</p><p>Tony nods. He's going to have to take a look at the Animus the next day, figure out how it works properly, put together his own – vastly improved – version once they were out of here, so that Desmond could… wind down, or whatever. That was for later though. "And the plan is still good – tomorrow night, I'll crack the door open for you and you…?"</p><p>"Kill everyone in this place," Desmond agrees with a nod. "You and Yinsen stay here and barricade the room. And if anything other than me comes back…"</p><p>Tony hums in agreement. If anything other than Desmond came back, they'd probably be killed. "Yeah."</p>
<hr/><p>Tony waits with bated breath for things to go wrong. They have to go wrong, nothing's gone <em>right</em> here, so, this close to the finale, if something can go wrong, it is damn well going to go wrong.</p><p>They spent the sixth day of their week doing their hardest to avoid causing suspicion, all the while moving the pieces of armour together so that Desmond can pull them on easily when the night comes. Tony finishes the sheath for the sword and the holsters for the throwing knives – they'd go onto a belt around the waist, completing the whole medieval look, and good god, if Tony is going to survive this, he's never going to live down the ordeal of <em>building a medieval armour in a cave</em>…</p><p>And then they're done. The armour is ready, just waiting for Desmond to pull it on – or rather, for Tony and Yinsen to strap it on. Tony has finished the lever they can use to break open the door, it wouldn't even be hard. The weapons are all laid out and sharpened, along with ten smoke bombs Tony had made with ceramic casings. All is left is to wait for the night, and for Desmond to get up.</p><p>The minutes tick by, slowly, Tony is <em>this close</em> to biting his fingernails in stress as the caves outside quiet down for the evening, the Ten Rings settling down from whatever they do during day time. At the last damn moment before they usually turn the lights off, Tony realises much to his panic, that nothing about their workspace makes it look like they're about to finish the missile, so for the last half an hour he and Yinsen waste time and probably make themselves look like idiots by moving last of the SAM missile casings near to the workspace, where Tony makes pretence of supposedly adding stuff in it, as if he's putting the thing together, and maybe that's good enough…</p><p>Then it's eleven pm. The caves are quiet. And Desmond is still in the Animus. At midnight he's still in the Animus. One am, still in the Animus…</p><p>"Shouldn't his session be over already?" Tony hisses. "It's been over eight hours."</p><p>"He stretches them out sometimes, when the memory is particularly important one and he doesn't want to interrupt it…" Yinsen says, but he sounds nervous too.</p><p>Tony swallows, sitting down on his cot, pretending like he's stressing for a completely different reason, casting sideways looks at the Animus. Desmond doesn't look ready – it looks like he's just sleeping. It's nerve wracking. They're supposed to be busting out of here, and… "We should wake him up."</p><p>Yinsen hums. "Give it a moment. There's night left still," he says. "And he wouldn't stay down there, if it wasn't important."</p><p>Two am. Three. By the four, Tony is both tired, cranky and somewhere on the other side of <em>stressed out</em>. Panicking might be a word for it. And Desmond is still showing no signs of waking up.</p><p>Then, very quiet in the darkness comes a heartfelt, "What the <em>fuck</em>?"</p><p>It takes all the willpower Tony has to not vault out of bed and rush over to Desmond. "Kept us waiting, it's almost <em>morning</em> already!" he hisses, getting up as quietly and smoothly as he can, while Yinsen does the same. "What was so important?"</p><p>"Um," Desmond says, and then, "Oh, shit, what time is it?"</p><p>"Four twenty," Tony says. "So whatever it was better have been important. Up, up, we have to move fast now."</p><p>Desmond gets up and they shuffle, to a dead spot on the camera views, where the armour is waiting. While Tony and Yinsen quickly begin strapping the armour on, Desmond wavers a little, confused and dazed at first, but eventually gets his head in the game, pulling on what bits he can for them to attach and strap down.</p><p>"So what was the memory that kept you busy?" Yinsen asks, strapping the waist armour on.</p><p>"Oh, just, Ezio going one-man-army on the Vatican and having a fight with the Pope. Two fights, actually. One with Pieces of Eden and other with fists," Desmond says, sounding a little baffled. "And then some. I, uh. It was – "</p><p>"Tell us later, there's no time," Tony says, kneeling down. "Lift your foot."</p><p>Between Tony and Yinsen, they get Desmond armoured up, the weapons belt wrapped around his waist and all the holders and sheathes attached. He really looks like a medieval knight – or maybe a sci-fi one? His chest plate came from a missile casing, and the Stark Industries logo is still there, over his chest, and there's no hiding the origins of the metal, it looks like scrap from a weapons yard. Because it is.</p><p>It's both awesome and embarrassing, and Tony <em>seriously</em> regrets not getting to build the power armour instead. But beggars and choosers – and with all the pieces finally put together, Desmond testing out his range of movement and seeming to have no difficulties despite hauling around nearly a hundred and fifty pounds of metal… yeah.</p><p>"It's – a lot heavier than proper medieval armour," Desmond murmurs.</p><p>"Well, proper medieval armour can't actually withstand high powered rifle rounds. This should, in theory, withstand <em>armour piercing</em>," Tony says, checking straps and tightening them where they need to be tightened. "Though don't test your luck with that."</p><p>"I won't," Desmond promises and accepts the helmet Yinsen hands him. Drawing a deep breath, he looks at the helmet and then up at Tony. "Man, this is… this is something, huh," he says. "Okay. I guess this is it, then."</p><p>"Yeah," Tony says, his hands stilling over the armour. "You can do this," he says. "You can <em>do this</em>."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, I can," Desmond agrees and he sounds a lot more sure of himself than Tony feels. Desmond pulls the helmet on. "Any chance you could get me a hood, real quick?" he asks then, his voice distorted by the metal. "I got a tradition to uphold, and an aesthetic to follow."</p><p>"What, seriously?" Tony asks, arching his brow. "A hood. You want to cover my creation with a flammable piece of fabric, easy to get tangled in and probably a vision detriment? What else, you want a <em>cape</em> too?"</p><p>"Actually yeah, I'd love one," Desmond agrees. "Red one, please?"</p><p>Tony sputters at him.</p><p>"Focus," Yinsen says gently. "Desmond, you remember the route I told you? 41 steps straight ahead, then 16 – "</p><p>"Yinsen," Desmond says. "I don't need the route. I'm going to <em>clear</em> this place. And once I have, you can show us the way out yourself."</p><p>Yinsen shuts up at that.</p><p>Tony looks between them and then knocks his knuckles against the armour over Desmond's shoulder. "Give them hell for us," he says.</p><p>Desmond nods, and nothing more is said. Tony and Yinsen move to the door, preparing to force it open. Desmond steps in front of it, plates of metal grinding and clanking as he moves, but other than that, he has no issue in moving with the thing, despite the weight. Tony could only hope it was enough, that he'd done a good enough job – that Desmond had learned enough and that they hadn't bet everything on nothing but make-believe. Please, let it be enough.</p><p>Then they bust the door open, breaking it off its hinges with forceful application of one hell of a lever – and Desmond heads out, stalking out of the room with a new, predatory edge to his stride. Tony and Yinsen take only a moment to look after him, neither saying anything before pushing the door back shut, and quickly beginning to barricade themselves in.</p><p>Soon after, the gunfire begins.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony Stark has been missing for a month and thirteen days, by the time they get the call.</p><p>Rhodey is leaning over maps when it happens, comparing satellite data to their existing maps, both marked with areas they've already searched and cleared, and areas they haven't. Most of what they can't easily cover is in the mountains, partially because the area is just too large to even know where to begin, and partially because the terrain gives potential tangos all kinds of hidey holes to set up anti-aircraft weaponry, and after they lost a couple of choppers in the area, it was deemed too high risk. So, all they have is satellite photos.</p><p>Trying to find caves with satellite photos is like trying to fish by using a kite. You could probably do it, but it's damn difficult.</p><p>And then the call.</p><p>"Yes, this is Tony Stark speaking, billionaire, visionary, lately a kidnap victim, and newly an escape artist – if you could be so kind as to put Colonel Rhodes on the line, I'd be <em>ever</em> so delighted."</p><p>It put a fire under the asses of just about everyone on the base, and Rhodey is in a helicopter the moment they have coordinates, Tony still on the radio, talking with their radio operator back on the base, going, "Yeah, no, I'm fine, relatively speaking, broken arm and sprained ankle and other things aside – I'll walk it off – what, no, yeah, they're all dead, yep, all of them, yeah, it's just peachy in here –"</p><p>Tony's babbling, Rhodey thinks, panicked, running his mouth, injured, probably in shock –</p><p>It's a long flight to the terrorist camp – and damn if it doesn't sting, knowing that this is a spot they'd screened with a satellite and dismissed. The place is damn well camouflaged, hell, even from a chopper it takes them a moment to see it. There are no roads leading up to the place, no tracks, no landmarks, and everything outside is covered in camo netting to blend it into the surroundings. It takes them a couple of sweeps to see the place, and even <em>then</em> it takes someone coming out to wave a flag for the pilot to spot the little rocky valley where the camp is hidden.</p><p>Rhodey only sees the guy – the <em>thing</em> for a moment, waving the ten foot pole with a dirty sheet tied to it, before the pilot is turning the chopper around, and they begin looking for a landing spot. But that glimpse is enough to raise some alarm bells, and not just for him, but everyone there.</p><p>It's gone back inside once they finally get their boots on the ground and move to secure the site, and – fuck, it only gets more alarming the moment they get close enough to see.</p><p>The camp is littered with two things. Expertly killed corpses, lined up front – and Stark Industries weapons. Crates and crates of Stark Industries weapons.</p><p>Tony is waiting for them just inside as Rhodey and others move in, rifles at the ready. And he's not alone. "Don't shoot just because I can't put up my arms," Tony says, waving one hand at them, the other in a makeshift sling. "We're all friendly here."</p><p>It's one hell of a tableau they make. Tony, sitting down with an older man at his left side, dressed in what passes for an impeccable suit in a cave… and on his other side… damn.</p><p>Only Tony. Only Tony could end up building a robot in a cave.</p><p>"Tony," Rhodey says, pushing past the others. "<em>God</em>. Are you alright?"</p><p>"Hey, honey," Tony grins, his face dirty, his face unshaven and his eyes <em>bright.</em> "Been awhile – how have you been?"</p><p>"Better than you – you look like shit," Rhodey says. "Not so fun in the fun-vee, huh? Who are your friends?"</p><p>"Rhodey, this is DESMOND, who is not going to take his helmet off for reasons and is very sorry about being rude, but he's still not going to take his helmet off, and no one will make him," Tony says, motioning to the robot. "And this is Yinsen, he saved my life, but is currently on my shit list and not getting off it anytime soon. Broke my arm because of him. Anyway, they're both coming home with me."</p><p>Rhodey looks between them, the tired looking man who offers him an awkward smile before taking off his glasses to clean them, and then the robot, who is slowly scanning the soldiers, probably analysing their weaponry and threat level before dismissing them and turning its faceplate forward. Front facing vision, huh?</p><p>God, Rhodey can't wait to pick Tony's brain about DESMOND. They'd talked about robotic soldiers on and off for years, Tony had always said he<em> could do it</em> if he wanted to – he just didn't want to, bad for business if they eliminate the need for human soldiers, there'd be no one left to buy their guns. Personally Rhodey had always thought it was because Tony did not want to make an AI just to kill people – that was a slippery slope down to Terminator, and Tony had always loved robots and artificial intelligence too much for that.</p><p>Things must've sucked <em>a lot</em> for Tony to go against that conviction.</p><p>"Right," Rhodey says. "You're riding with me back to the base. Anything we should know about this place before we move to secure it? Any surprises?"</p><p>Tony hesitates, looking at DESMOND thoughtfully. "No," he says then. "DESMOND took care of the surprises. We're good."</p><p>"Okay. Anything you might want to bring with?" Rhodey asks pointedly. None of them have anything they're carrying, aside from DESMOND's arsenal of obviously makeshift weaponry, and the robot isn't something you can just make from scrap – there's got to have been drawings, blueprints. "You know, something like <em>designs</em> you're looking to patent?"</p><p>Tony blinks and then runs a hand over his face.</p><p>"The notebooks," DESMOND speaks, surprisingly quiet, making the soldier nearest almost jump.</p><p>"Right, and the drawings for plan A – yeah," Tony agrees. "Can you go get them?"</p><p>"Sure," the robot says and then looks at one of the soldiers, Hudson, who's aiming a gun at him.</p><p>Rhodey motions her to stand down, and then they watch in awe as the robot turns, surprisingly agile, and then sets off at a noisy jog, every step heavy enough to make the ground under them vibrate.</p><p>"<em>Damn</em>, Tony," Rhodey says, heartfelt.</p><p>"Oh, don't, I'm ashamed enough as it is," Tony sighs, shaking his head. "Any chance any of you brought with you a chocolate bar? Or anything? Or, oh god, <em>coffee</em>? I could <em>kill</em> for some coffee right about now."</p><hr/><p>Whatever happened in the Ten Rings camp was a massacre. There's not a single terrorist alive there, and all their deaths were quick and expertly pulled off. Slit throats, bullets do the vitals, broken necks – a few were killed by throwing knives, and some by a <em>sword</em>, but there's no doubt about who or what killed them.</p><p>"Jesus fucking Christ," Donohue murmurs, later, as they go through the reports from the team going through the caves. They are getting photos now, and they're all pretty brutal. "If just one of those things can do this, then –"</p><p>There are, all told, forty one enemy casualties at the camp, and not one of them was given much in a way of mercy – or a chance to fight back. There's been some gunfire, the terrorists had taken shots at DESMOND when he'd gone through the caves, but it didn't look like it slowed the robot down much at all. By the end someone had tried to fire a rocket at him. It had missed.</p><p>There's some footage from a few corridors with cameras, and it's – a little chilling, actually, watching the robot go through them. The most alarming thing is the fact that he didn't just<em> go at it.</em> DESMOND used tactics, very stealthy and effective tactics – smoke bombs, taking cover, things you wouldn't expect a robot to be able to do if you didn't know the intricacy Tony Stark could put into his AI – DESMOND didn't just calculate bullet trajectories, but he knew that he needed to take cover, and he did – most of the few shots he took at long range were done from behind the cover.</p><p>And then other times he just walked up to a pair of terrorists under the cover of smoke, and stabbed them before they could even see him, the only thing giving him away being the noise of his movement, which was probably covered by all the gunfire by that point.</p><p>It's… yeah.</p><p>"We need to secure that thing," Colonel Ackerman says. "ASAP."</p><p>"It's property of Stark Industries," Rhodey says. "It's going to the States with Mr. Stark, and no one is laying a hand on it on the way from here to there. No – believe me. You do not want to be the one responsible for the shitshow of Stark lawyers and the brass going at it over Stark contracts and patents." </p><p>He makes a call to his higher ups right after, telling them, "Tony Stark just created a robot soldier in a cave, robot soldier which will turn flesh and blood militaries obsolete – now is <em>not</em> the time to step on his toes."</p><p>Never mind the mess of the kidnapping and whatever fallout would happen because of it – Tony was under their care when he was captured. And then there's the camp itself. The camp, full of Stark Industries weapons. Some of those crates looked fresh off the assembly lines.</p><p>"They wanted me to build them a Jericho missile," Tony says, sitting in the medical, where his foot is being examined under Yinsen's and DESMOND's supervision by a very nervous military doctor. "Obviously I wasn't going to do that."</p><p>"Yeah, clearly, who did they even think they were dealing with," Rhodey agrees, trying not to look too noticeably at DESMOND. The robot is sitting beside Tony's bed, resting his hands on his metal knees, looking thoroughly out of place in the sterile white room. He's got a shoulder bag on now, bulging with books and papers and computer hard drives, which, Rhodey knows, are making some of their engineers <em>salivate</em>.</p><p>"Is there anything you can tell me about all the Stark weapons we saw there?" Rhodey asks, looking at Tony.</p><p>Tony draws a breath and sighs. "Yeah, but I think it might be need-to-know," he says, glancing at the doctor. "No offence, you've been lovely, but I'm not sure you need to know."</p><p>"I'm just about done here," the doctor says. "It's just a sprain – keep your weight off it and take it easy for a few days, and if it starts swelling, get to a medic."</p><p>"Yes ma'am," Tony says with a lazy salute with his now cast-covered broken arm and waits until the doctor is out before turning to Rhodey. "Someone at Stark Industries is dealing under the table. I don't know who it is, but they arranged the whole thing – it was supposed to be a hit, but Ten Rings are equal opportunity kidnappers, and when they realised it was me in that convoy…"</p><p>"They grabbed you in order to force you to make weaponry," Rhodey concludes with a sigh. "Shit. Well, it's better than killing you outright."</p><p>"Yeah," Tony agrees. "There might be something on it on their computers, I didn't get a good look, too busy getting rid of all the footage they had on me, don't want any of that online. But there might be something there that'll lead you to whoever's behind it."</p><p>"We'll look into it," Rhodey promised. They would've anyway. "You destroying the footage though, that's obstruction, you realise. You could get into trouble for that."</p><p>"Sue me," Tony says with a sigh and rolls his bare, sprained foot with a wince. "DESMOND, you got anything to add?"</p><p>Rhodey straightens his back as the robot lifts its head. "Raza got away," he says, and as Rhodey frowns, continues, "their leader. He threw all his men at me to get away through an escape tunnel and sent men to blow up the workroom, so I had to turn back to deal with them and couldn't follow. He's still alive."</p><p>Jesus Christ, the thing can read human expressions. Rhodey is only slightly comforted by the fact that apparently DESMOND prioritises the protection of his maker over killing all their enemies, but still. Rhodey always knew what Tony could do amazing things when it came down to the wire, but this is actually a little scary.</p><p>"We'll see if we can find him," Rhodey promises and looks at Tony. "There will be a thorough investigation at the camp. I'll do what I can to keep you in the loop as much as I can, but seeing as this might very well involve charges of treason against someone in your company, it might be tricky."</p><p>"I'll be doing my own investigation when I get back home, believe me," Tony scoffs. "We can compare notes."</p><p>"Yeah," Rhodey agrees. "Now, there's one thing. Yinsen."</p><p>"Mmh?" the man asks, looking up from the newspaper he was reading.</p><p>"He's coming with me, he's going to work for me," Tony says. "That's non negotiable. Neither is DESMOND."</p><p>"DESMOND is a given, but Yinsen is a foreign citizen – you can't just uproot him willy-nilly," Rhodey says. "There are procedures about this sort of thing. Paperwork. Passports, visas and the like."</p><p>"But not for DESMOND?" Tony asks, arching his brows.</p><p>"I don't think there's a bot that's ever needed a passport before."</p><p>There's a moment of silence at that, Tony looking at DESMOND slowly and Yinsen frowning slightly, and then Tony's expression brightens. "Well, that's just racist against all of botkind," he says and waves a hand at DESMOND and Yinsen, obviously telling them both to shut up. "I'm sure Yinsen got a passport somewhere, and he's coming to work at Stark Industries, so a work visa shouldn't be a problem, right? There, paperwork solved."</p><p>Rhodey squints at him suspiciously.</p><p>"Now," Tony says. "I have to talk with my new employee about company secrets and how to keep them, so, shoo, shoo, I'm sure you have some soldiering to do."</p><p>"I'm missing something," Rhodey says shortly.</p><p>"Yes, your cue to leave –" Tony says and hobbles up to his feet – to one foot – in order to usher him out. He looks ridiculous and like he's about to fall flat on his face.</p><p>Rhodey puts his hands up. "I'm going, I'm going," he says. "Sit your injured ass down. But Tony, we're talking about this later."</p><p>"Yes, yes, sure, sure, now shoo! Company secrets about to be discussed here."</p><hr/><p>From their preliminary analysis and what little Tony and Yinsen had reported, the sequence of events goes like this.</p><p>Yinsen was kidnapped some four months ago to work as Ten Rings' not so willing medic.</p><p>Ten Rings received Stark Weapons around two months ago – and proceeded to use them on Tony's convoy 44 days ago. Tony was life-threateningly injured, and Yinsen saved his life by using an <em>experimental medical procedure</em> neither of them will go into detail about. It probably took a lot out of Tony, though, since it looks like he needed to be intravenously fed for most of the following month.</p><p>Then Ten Rings began putting pressure on Tony to make them weapons – and that pressure wasn't particularly benign, considering the very specifically placed tub of water near what was suspected to be Tony's workroom and holding cell. No wonder Tony wanted to get rid of the footage. It must've been gruesome.</p><p>Ten Rings got Tony supplies and materials, and then, in a month, Tony built a killer robot to save himself.</p><p>It holds water only for as long as it takes their techs to get into the Ten Rings' encrypted files and access emails – one of which concerns the <em>delivery </em>of one Desmond Miles, and Rhodey finally realises his mistake – all too late.</p><p>By that point, Tony, Yinsen and Desmond are already on their way to the States, and all of the US military brass is under the impression that Tony Stark had built himself a killer robot – and thus made himself pretty much untouchable. And Tony hadn't contradicted it – no, he leaned into it. He all but confirmed it without ever actually saying anything about it, neither confirming or denying, letting people draw their own conclusions – and it was bought, hook, line, and sinker.</p><p>Turn the narrative into <em>Tony Stark had armed an assassin that went on a highly effective murderous rampage, and then <strong>lied</strong> about it,</em> and it's a very different story altogether – with a very different fallout.</p><p>"What does it mean, Colonel?" the tech asks worriedly as they finish going over the files. He might've come to the same suspicion, but doesn't dare to say it out loud.</p><p>Rhodey thinks about it for a moment, thinks about the month of worry and fear, and now the realisation that Tony wasn't just kidnapped – someone betrayed him and tried to kill him. Thinks about what might happen to this <em>Desmond</em>, who, according to the email, is approximately twenty two years old. Thinks about what people might think or <em>do</em> if they realised it was a human under the armour, a human who could kill 41 people apparently without breaking a sweat. Thinks about what reasons Tony might have for protecting the guy's identity.</p><p>He thinks about the moment in the cave when Desmond came back with their notes and blueprints, and Tony accepted them directly from his hands without so much as a twitch.</p><p>"The guy didn't make it," Rhodey then says. "I think Tony named DESMOND after him. Probably best we don't bring it up too much."</p><p>"Right," the tech says. And that's that.</p><p>Rhodey hangs around long enough to fudge up the investigation and swing it that way, making sure the stories of Desmond the human and DESMOND the killer robot stayed separate. Thankfully, Tony already has a history of naming AIs after deceased people, so it's not beyond the realm of possibility – plus, with so many people drooling after the possibility of Stark Industries starting to produce military robotics of that calibre… well, people will believe what they want to believe.</p><p>Tony owes him, though. He owes Rhodey <em>big time</em>. Enough to not get kidnapped again, at least.</p><hr/><p>Rhodey isn't there to see Tony land on American soil – with Yinsen and Desmond to cover him, Rhodey had stayed in Afghanistan for the clean up and to see the investigation to the end. He sees the news report, though – sees the images of Tony leaning onto Yinsen's arm as he stepped down from the military transport, with Desmond looming behind them, a little rough around the edges, unpolished, but still startlingly robotic-looking.</p><p>It's the faceplate and how close fitted the armour is, as well as what it's made of – it's impossible to imagine that it could fit a person inside it. Desmond must be a skinny guy – though how someone <em>skinny</em> can wear so much metal, Rhodey would like to know. Maybe there's hydraulics in there or something. He makes it look easy, though – and knowing what Rhodey now knows, it can't be.</p><p>Desmond has been dubbed "Stark's Iron Man" before Tony even makes it to a press briefing.</p><p>Then, in a case of worst mixed signals ever, Tony takes to the podium, side by side with his supposed <em>killer robot,</em> and announces that he'd shutting down Stark Industries weapons production, effective immediately.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In conclusion, Tony Stark building a killer robot in a cave (with a box of scraps!) is more believable than him taking up medieval armour-smithing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Desmond is gritting his teeth and biting his tongue. Feels like that's most of what he's been doing since they got on the plane – and that was… more than twenty hours ago. He's got a headache, the armour is starting to stink of sweat and oil and other things, and he's seriously regretting his choice of trying to cover his identity by just not taking it off. There got to have been another way.</p><p>He really, really needs to go to the toilet too.</p><p>"You've been a good sport, a great sport – I know you gotta be broiling in there," Stark says, as he drives up what has to be the longest, windiest damn driveway in the history of driveways. "We'll just get you indoors, get you behind lock and key, and then you can get out of there, alright?"</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond says, staying still. He's sitting in the backseat, Yinsen's beside Stark, and Stark is driving, heedless of the broken arm. They're being followed by another car with Stark's secretary PA person, who had kept giving him a lot of wide-eyed looks, and Desmond is very relieved the guy from the press briefing hadn't came along. Having to stand there and not react to him was bad enough – having him follow…?</p><p>How no one noticed him tripping fucking balls in weird associative hallucinations as the guy's face was replaced with Rodrigo Borgia's, he has no idea.</p><p>"Can I talk to you now, Stark?" Desmond asks, opening and closing his hands in his lap. The gloves aren't helping – they're leather. Ezio wore leather gloves too.</p><p>"Listen, I <em>know</em>, I know – it's embarrassing, I know, and I want you to know I appreciate it, I really, really do – and hey, it keeps your identity secret too, and that was the point, right?" Stark asks, full of anxious, furious energy. "I'll make another armour – I make an actual robot, hell, I'll – I have so many things I want to make, things I will make. It won't be forever. I just need you to keep up the pretence for long enough so that – "</p><p>"That people don't discover the mortifying truth of you forging an actual medieval armour?" Yinsen asks, amused.</p><p>Stark points at him with his cast-covered hand, fingers barely visible. "You're right, but that's a company secret – I'll write an NDA for you. And you will sign it, because you're guilty for my broken arm."</p><p>Yinsen draws a breath, probably to apologise.</p><p>"Nuh-uh, zip it. I don't accept apologies – I accept acts of contrition in the form of skilled labour and non-disclosure agreements."</p><p>"Stark," Desmond says, a little more urgently.</p><p>"We're almost there," Stark answers. "You can hold it in for like two minutes, okay, the mansion is just around this curve –"</p><p>Desmond blows out a breath. "Obadiah Stane wants to kill you," he says.</p><p>He half expects Stark to slam on the breaks. After having to watch the way Stark interacted with the guy, all the shoulder patting and hugging and – it was damn obvious the guys were, <em>are, </em>close. But at the same time, watching Stark's golden glow being almost smothered by Obadiah Stane's vivid, hateful red one, and <em>not being able to say anything about it</em>…</p><p>Stark clears his throat, rolls his jaw, and then says, "What?"</p><p>"Obadiah Stane wants to kill you," Desmond says, his hands clenching and opening again. "He wants to kill you really, really badly." And it had taken almost all of Desmond's self-control not to punch the guy in the face and shove him off Stark. Or stab him.</p><p>Yinsen looks over his shoulder at Desmond, and Stark's fingers flex on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything – they're coming to the front of a really ridiculously expensive looking mansion, all white with curves and rounded edges, and Stark parks in front of it with a surprisingly sedate breaking, not a screeching one, but… almost subdued. The silence following him turning the engine off is almost deafening.</p><p>The other car pulls to a stop beside theirs, and without a word Stark gets up. Yinsen follows, and Desmond gives it a moment before turning to open the backseat door on the driver's side, standing up and smothering the urge to stretch. Stark stands to face him, expressionless with that flinty, crazy-eyed look.</p><p>"What about them?" he asks, nodding to the other car, where the PA is gathering her bag.</p><p>"They're good – on your side," Desmond assures him. "Hundred percent. Obadiah Stane <em>isn't</em>."</p><p>Stark stares at him hard for a moment and then turns away, tucking the crazy eyes away as the doors of the other car open, and the PA lady gets up.</p><p>"Tony, really," she says. "You should've let Happy drive, it would've been safer – you have a broken arm, a sprained ankle – "</p><p>"It's fine, Pepper, it's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine," Tony says, back to the state of nervous energy. "And now we're going inside – Happy, did you get the food?"</p><p>"I've got eight pizzas in the back," the driver of the other car says. "With a whole load of drinks – you want me to bring them in?"</p><p>"Yes, please do," Tony says, heading to the front doors of the mansion. Desmond looks to Yinsen, and the man offers him a tight, awkward smile before moving to follow. Desmond does the same, trying to ignore the way the PA, Pepper, seems to jump at the sound of the armour, clanking away.</p><p>For a moment the building looks a little like Auditore Villa – but, thankfully, reality is too mismatched with memory, and as the mansion's glass doors open on their own, the image settles. Inside lights switch on, and as they're all blasted with cool, air-conditioned air, a British male voice greets Stark with a, "Welcome home, Sir." </p><p>"Thank you kindly, JARVIS," Stark says, already wiggling out of his suit jacket.</p><p>"It has been a long time," the voice says, coming seemingly from all around them. "Based on the news reports, I calculated the chances of your safe return at 0.25 percent."</p><p>"That's me, always beating the odds," Stark says, drawing a deep breath and throwing his jacket onto a decorative modern art piece, leaving it hanging there lopsidedly as he turns to face Yinsen and Desmond. "New employees, meet JARVIS. JARVIS, meet Ho Yinsen and Desmond, they will be staying with us for a while, level 3 access for both of them, plus level 1 access to the basement. Speaking of which, right this way, gentlemen – Pepper, can you and Happy break open the pizzas, get some plates, whatnot? We'll be right back."</p><p>"Right," Pepper the PA says with a sigh. "You know, you have over three thousand emails waiting for you."</p><p>"3257, to be exact," JARVIS the ceiling voice says. "And 1713 new voice messages."</p><p>"Nice to be missed. Delete 'em," Stark says, already moving, heading towards a staircase leading down, with an <em>indoor waterfall</em> separating the stairwell from the rest of the room. He snaps his fingers as he goes. "Yinsen, Desmond, keep up."</p><p>Shaking his head, Yinsen turns to follow, and Desmond follows him. Downstairs there's a… well, it probably is a workroom. Workshop. Compared to what they had in Afghanistan, it's like going from a dark alley black market dealer to an Apple flagship store – all gleam and shine and polish, with wide open spaces and robots and… sports cars.</p><p>Stark punches in a code to the glass door between them and the workshop and then motions them through. "Welcome to the beating heart of Stark Industries – or, the brain, it's rather the brain," he says as they step on through. "Hello boys, girl; daddy's back!"</p><p>The boys and the girl are, Desmond assumes, the robots in the workshop, which are coming alert at their presence and pointing multiarticulated arms their way. Looks like they have cameras in those arms. Or maybe that makes them <em>eyes,</em> since, robots?</p><p>"Uh, so, some history of robotics, huh?" Desmond says, wondering if the robots in the workshop know about his supposed relation to them. "Nice," he offers. At least he won't be Bleeding on them – not too many robots in the 16th century.</p><p>"Oh you sweet summer child," Stark says, shaking his head. "<em>Some history with robotics</em>, he says. Speaking of which, JARVIS, black out the glass, please?"</p><p>The glass wall between the stairs and the workshop turns black and Stark claps his hands together – and then winces, rubbing at the cast. "Right, so, let's see about getting this off," he says and raps his fingers against the armour. "And after that we can – see about the rest."</p><p>"Right, uh. You <em>heard</em> what I said, right?" Desmond asks, and at long damn last pulls the helmet off, sighing with relief as he feels fresh air on his face. Ugh, his hair feels awful, as does his beard, everything feels awful. "About Stane?"</p><p>"I heard, I am just – compartmentalising," Stark says, reaching into the armour collar and beginning to loosen the armour straps. "Prioritising. You've been wearing the armour for over twenty four hours now, it's got to be wearing on you – how are you feeling?"</p><p>Desmond gives him a look and then glances at Yinsen, who shakes his head. Okay, deflection it is. "I feel grimy, and sweaty, and disgusting and in a really, really bad need of a shower. And don't think I will ever forget the fact that both of you got to clean up at Bagram while I had to stay in armour."</p><p>"I am sorry for that, personally," Yinsen offers. "It couldn't have been pleasant."</p><p>"No, it wasn't," Desmond says and winces as Stark snaps something in the armour and the pauldrons loosen, letting his shoulders drop. "Also, I think I have like – a million blisters."</p><p>"I bet," Stark says, easing the pauldrons off and dropping them to the floor. "There's a shower in the back, you can use that as soon as we get this off – oh, <em>god</em>," he says and recoils a little. "You really do need it, <em>damn</em>. That's some – wow."</p><p>"Don't make that face at me – it's your fault," Desmond says, wiggling a little as Yinsen opens the straps holding the faulds in place. The skirt of metal falls to the floor in a noisy clatter, and the breastplate and backplate follow it with a <em>clang</em> as they hit the floor, and that's a good fifty, sixty pounds of metal off Desmond's shoulders. He sways a little as the rest of it comes off, Yinsen easing off the plackart – at least Desmond thinks it's classified as a plackart, Stark had kind of re-invented the wheel when making the armour, there's a lot of bits that don't usually go together.</p><p>He'd gotten so used to wearing it for the last day or so that it coming off bit by bit makes him feel almost weightless. By the time he's metal-free from the waist up, he's feeling like gravity's stopped working right, except for all the metal still on his legs. Sabatons and greaves and poleyns and cuisses…</p><p>"Huh," Stark says. "You really know all this stuff, don't you?"</p><p>Desmond shakes his head. He hadn't realised he'd been mumbling out loud. "Ezio wore a lot of armour too – not this much, but, he knew his stuff," he says and runs a now bare hand over his neck – it feels <em>tacky </em>with sweat. "I'm feeling a bit light-headed, is that – Yinsen, is that normal?"</p><p>"You've been carrying quite a deal of weight around, I would be worried if you didn't feel a slight rush of energy after," Yinsen says but checks his pulse. "An adrenaline spike perhaps. Are you seeing things? Tell me if it lasts longer than half a minute – now sit down and tell me if you start feeling dizzy."</p><p>Desmond nods and sits down so that Stark and Yinsen can finish pulling off the rest of the armour, running his hands through his messy, greasy hair. Stark pulls off the last quisse and drops it onto the floor with a sigh before sitting down there to look at Desmond. "You look like shit," he says.</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees and looks around. The robots are watching him, and he feels weirdly naked and dirty. "So, about that shower –"</p><p>"How do you know Obi wants to kill me?" Stark asks.</p><p>Desmond pauses and turns back to look at Stark. "I, uh… I can see it?" he offers and looks down. Amidst all of it, he hadn't really told the others about the Eagle Sense, it had just… it had been like another bit of nonsense in the middle of all the other crazy bullshit. And in the end it had just sort of slipped his mind that he hadn't. And now it sounds just crazy. "I'm not sure how to explain, it's something Altaïr and Ezio could do –"</p><p>"Some sort of Assassin intuition thing?" Stark asks.</p><p>"No, I think it's an actual psychic power," Desmond admits with a grimace and shrugs his shoulders – and damn, isn't that a different feeling, without the weight. "Eagle Sense. I can – see people's intentions. That's how I could see the terrorists in the caves even though it was dark and full of smoke."</p><p>"I thought you just – listened to them, using killer instincts," Stark says, frowning while Yinsen leans back, looking thoughtful. </p><p>"No, sorry. I mean, yeah, that too, but I could just see them," Desmond says and rubs at his eyes. "I can, uh… kind of see through walls now too, it's – it's a bit creepy, to be honest."</p><p>Stark and Yinsen look at him silently for a moment and then exchange looks. Yinsen hums. "Well," he comments. "There is the elephant in the room of why the Animus worked the way it did in the first place. If gamma radiation causes genetic mutations… why those genetic mutations in particular?" He considers Desmond. "Underlying genetic disposition, perhaps?"</p><p>Stark rests his hands on his knees, frowning and then meets Desmond's eyes. "Where's Pepper and Happy – point them out for me?"</p><p>Desmond looks up with the Eagle Vision, and then points. "She's by the window, I think she's talking on the phone. He's – over there, I think? Reaching for something high up."</p><p>"JARVIS?" Stark asks. "Can you confirm?"</p><p>"Miss Potts is standing by the window, talking to Mrs. Layton of Stark Industries Marketing department on the phone. Mr. Hogan is in the kitchen, getting champagne glasses from the top shelf – they are indeed in the directions your guest pointed at," the ceiling voice says and then adds, delicately, "Sir, should I take this to mean you did not in fact build a killer robot in a cave like all the news media says?"</p><p>"No, sorry, buddy, no new brother for you today," Stark says, staring at Desmond.</p><p>"If I may, sir, I am rather relieved. The implications were quite severe, according to experts."</p><p>Stark snorts and then shakes his head. "Obi wants to kill me," he says flatly. "Shit. Okay, Desmond, you – go have that shower. Yinsen, you go upstairs, get a drink or something. I'm going to go over there and – and scream a bit, okay?"</p><p>Desmond and Yinsen share a look. "Okay," Desmond sighs and stands up. "Whatever you need, man. Any chance of clean clothes?"</p><p>"There are clean bathrobes in the bathroom," JARVIS the ceiling voice offers politely. "Along with clean towels and a wide range of hygiene products."</p><p>"Awesome," Desmond says, waving a hand at awkward Yinsen, who's turning to the stairs, while Stark marches over to the nearest sports car, gets inside and then sits there, completely silent.</p><hr/><p>Desmond decides to take the whole thing at a stride. His life is messed up as it is, what's one weird thing more? He was in an Afghan cave for two months, then he pretended to be a robot a bit, and now he's hanging around in a billion dollar mansion that talks with the world's richest man and his friends, and keeps hallucinating Tuscany countryside outside the window. What is life but a sequence of confusing events, really?</p><p>"So," Pepper the PA says slowly, looking between Stark and Desmond, who is trying not to feel very naked out of the armour and without any weapons. "You… made the whole world believe you made a killer robot… to cover up for the fact that what you actually did was… medieval blacksmithing?"</p><p>"I didn't do anything, actually," Stark says, while Desmond tries not to scratch at his chin. After two months of beard growth, shaving made everything <em>itchy</em>. "Everyone just looked at Desmond and decided, <em>yeah, that's totally a robot</em>. Apparently that's more believable than me doing medieval blacksmithing – I had nothing to do with it. I just ran with it once I realised what they were on about."</p><p>"It kind of is," Happy Hogan says, pouring Yinsen another glass of soda. "And it looks like you'd taken a missile and turned it into a robot."</p><p>"I was a little limited in my supplies," Stark says defensively. "And it worked out in the end, didn't it? No harm done."</p><p>"But – why?" Pepper asks, shaking her head. "Do you know what you've done to the company image, what people are thinking – the whole world thinks you can make robot soldiers now, and then the press briefing? What will happen when people find out you <em>didn't</em> actually make a killer robot? And why did you let them think it in the first place?"</p><p>"It seemed more fun that way?" Stark offers.</p><p>"Tony – "</p><p>"I did just kill forty-one people," Desmond comments awkwardly while grabbing for another slice of pepperoni. The taste is keeping him grounded – no pizza in the 16th century, either. At least no pizza with tomato. "And there are people looking for me for other reasons. I asked if I could keep the suit on to keep my identity secret, and – it kind of went from there."</p><p>Pepper opens her mouth and says <em>forty one</em> though, though no sound comes out. Then she looks at Stark, white-faced and wide-eyed.</p><p>"We were captured by <em>terrorists</em>, Pepper," the man comments. "We weren't exactly free to walk out, fighting our way out was the only way. Anyway, it doesn't matter – no one is going to find out that's not what happened, because I am going to keep them thinking that's what happened. Fake it till I make it, all that. Also Desmond saved our lives, so we're going to be nice to Desmond. And <em>not give him away to feds</em> or anything."</p><p>"I –" Pepper says, sighs and turns to Desmond, who shifts uncomfortably in his fluffy white bathrobe. "No, of course not," she says, her shoulders slumping. "But this is – it's just a lot, Tony. You've been gone for over a month, and now this –" she shakes her head.</p><p>"Have more pizza," Stark says. "You'll feel better."</p><p>"I'm going to ruin my diet is what I will be feeling," Pepper says and sighs – and has more pizza. "What will happen now, Tony?"</p><p>"Well," Stark says, looking at Desmond and Yinsen. "There's stuff we need to cover. First, I need to make a better arc reactor. Yinsen, is there anything you'd like to do with the socket, make it a little less – a little <em>less</em>?" he asks pointedly.</p><p>"What I would like is a set of proper x-rays of your chest," Yinsen says with a sigh and leans back with his champagne glass of coke. "To start with. And perhaps a team of qualified, skilled surgeons to talk it over with. I have a number of trustworthy colleagues I would like to bring in on this, if you'd permit it."</p><p>"Get the list to JARVIS, and he'll run background checks, and we'll see," Stark says, biting down on the slice he's holding, which is close to dripping over his suit trousers. "Desmond, I – I'm probably going to need you in armour. It's the leverage I think I'm going to need. I'll make you a better one, promise, won't even take long now that I have access to proper fabrication."</p><p>"Sure," Desmond agrees, sighing. It would keep him Bleeding a bit, maybe, but Ezio never wore a full set like it, unless undercover, so hopefully it's different enough. With the faceplate no one noticed him losing his shit, anyway. "Add ventilation, and I'm all yours."</p><p>Stark grins at that, "Just what I love to hear," he says and then turns to Pepper. "And then," he says. "Then we need to bring Obi down."</p><p>Pepper almost chokes on her pizza. "I'm – sorry?" she asks helplessly. "What did Obadiah do?"</p><p>Stark hums, and apparently the screaming in the sports car helped because he only looks <em>slightly</em> crazy eyed as he says, "He tried to have me killed, Pepper, and the only reason he failed is because to bad people I'm worth more alive than dead. Obadiah sold me out, with who knows how many on the Board of Directors supporting him."</p><p>The pizza slice slips from her hand into her lap.</p><p>"We're going to figure out who and what and where and how," Stark says and looks down. "And then we're going to bring them to justice."</p><p>Pepper the PA stares at him silently for a moment, her face even paler. Then she looks at Desmond, at Yinsen, and finally at Happy, who just shrugs awkwardly. Then she looks down at her lap, where the runny cheese is ruining her skirt. Then she draws a breath.</p><p>"Okay," she says, peeling the pizza slice off her skirt and setting it down into one of the empty pizza boxes. "Does that mean I can spin the weapons manufacture shut down as a temporary measure for the purposes of internal investigation?" she asks. "That will look better to the press than what you did, and maybe won't completely tank our stock over the weekend."</p><p>Stark makes a face. "It's not going to be temporary, Pepper. I'm shutting down the weapons manufacture, permanently."</p><p>She sighs and stands up, as prim as she can with the grease stain on her skirt. "Okay – but it will still look better if we pretend, for a while, that this is just a temporary measure," she says and glances at Desmond. "There's a lot of that going around, after all."</p><p>Desmond offers her an awkward smile and looks down, while Stark sighs. "I'll think about it," he says. "Is that all, Miss Potts?"</p><p>"That's all, Mr. Stark," she says. "Happy, I'll take a moment in the restroom to clean myself up, are you good to drive me home?"</p><p>"You need anything else, boss?" Happy asks, quickly straightening his jacket.</p><p>"Not today – tomorrow I want chicken nuggets," Stark says thoughtfully. "And onion rings. I want them by the <em>basketful</em>."</p><p>The driver nods. "Sure thing," he says and stands up. "I'll be in the car, Pepper."</p><p>Desmond glances at Stark as they head off, leaving the three of them alone in the living room. The silence is awkward and tense and pizza-scented. Eventually, Pepper heads out, and soon after, the sound of their car is gone too.</p><p>"So," Desmond says. "Made it out alive. Go us."</p><p>Stark snorts and leans back. "Yeah, we did," he says and gives Yinsen a look. "Now comes the hard part, huh? Keeping on living our best lives, despite everything."</p><p>Yinsen sighs and sets his glass down. "I assume there are bedrooms here?" he asks. "It has been a long day – I would rather like to retire."</p><p>"Yeah. JARVIS, point Yinsen to a free bedroom," Stark says, and drops the last of his slice back into the box with a sigh, rubbing at his chest while Yinsen gets up, and leaves them.</p><p>Desmond considers him, the pizza still left in the box, the way Yinsen went, and then goes for another slice. "Wanna tell me what happened?" he asks. Stark's arm was already broken when he made it back to the workroom, and he was shouting obscenities at Yinsen, so Desmond had figured something went down… but didn't know for sure.</p><p>"He tried to get himself killed," Stark says darkly. "When they began shooting at the door, Yinsen grabbed a weapon instead of taking cover, wanting to take them on – stall for time. I had to tackle him to the ground to keep him from getting shot," he waves his broken arm. "Hence this. We both landed on the damn thing," he says and snorts. "At least it was a clean break."</p><p>Desmond hums. "Good," he says. "I mean, good that you stopped him. Sorry about the arm."</p><p>"Yeah," Stark says and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. "JARVIS, keep an eye on Yinsen for me, okay? If he does something risky, let me know."</p><p>"I will, Sir," the ceiling voice agrees and then asks, "What in this case might be classified as risky?"</p><p>"Anything that might threaten his life."</p><p>"You might have to be more specific, sir – by that parameter, you do something risky on a fairly regular basis, your latest absence notwithstanding."</p><p>Stark lets out a noise that's half a groan and half a laugh. "You get what I mean – just watch him."</p><p>Desmond snorts. Whatever JARVIS is, he definitely has Stark's number, huh. "I like your house," he offers and bites into the pizza.</p><p>"Good," Stark says and closes his eyes with a yawn. "Because you're going to be working together soon. It's gonna be <em>great</em>." </p><p>Desmond hums as Stark quiets down and pretty much conks out there and then. With a shrug, Desmond finishes the pizza – including the slices Stark and Pepper left uneaten, because otherwise it'd be a waste of good pizza, and as it is, he hasn't eaten anything in the whole damn day. Desmond can feel JARVIS watching him and maybe judging him for being a bit of a slob, but he doesn't really care.</p><p>He's out of armour, showered, shaved and clean, and the scene outside the window has settled into a patio and the open sea. There's a very modern looking pool out there. . Things are looking up. Divine time-bendy visions of roman goddesses giving dire warnings about the future aside.</p><p>Desmond finishes eating quietly and uses the last of the napkins to clean his hands. Then he goes to pick Stark up before the man will give himself neck strain on top of everything else. "JARVIS, can you point me to his bedroom?"</p><p>There's a moment of silence. Then, "Ah," the ceiling voice says, knowing. "Right this way, sir."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pepper had very quickly gone from relief over having her boss back, having her job back, having the possibility of everything going back to normal, to… to what, she's not quite sure. Horror and abject panic sounds about right, except she's neither horrified nor panicking. She's more… resigned maybe? No, that's not quite it either…</p><p>She's bracing herself, and she's preparing. That's her job, laying everything out for Tony, both the things he asks for and the things he doesn't, just in case he needs them. And god, there's so much to prepare for.</p><p>First, the legal side of things. She's already lost track of all the agencies that have put in requests for meetings with Tony. NSA, FBI and CIA just to start with – the whole first page of potential itinerary for meetings is full of alphabet soup and government agencies. The next two pages are other corporations and companies vying for a slice of this new potential market, and the rest of the pages are for media representatives who want interviews. It's the government agencies that are Pepper's first, biggest concern.</p><p>The legality of what Tony had supposedly done is in question. They all have different names for it – Untested Civilian Equipment, Unlicensed Military Hardware, Semi-Autonomous Combat Robot, and so on and so on – a lot also use the name media dubbed it, calling it "the so-called Iron Man" or "also known as Iron Man" but it's all the same thing, really. The robot Tony Stark built, which then rescued him from terrorist captivity.</p><p>Question is, is the robot a killer – or a weapon for killing? How independent is it, how dangerous is it, how much control does Tony Stark have over it, and what happens if he turns it on someone else? Surely coming to the press briefing with a killer robot in tow means that he's now going to parade the thing around with him wherever he goes – what if something happens, what if it goes haywire, what if it attacks someone, what if Tony Stark<em> tells </em>it to attack someone? </p><p>If it turns out that human rights had been violated when Tony Stark's Iron Man killed those terrorists, which one of them was guilty of the crime, Stark or his robot?</p><p>All signs point to Tony being the potential guilty party there, and knowing that there's a person inside the suit doesn't make reading the accusations any easier. There would be a hearing about it, probably several, but thankfully, what Tony had gone through and then the stunt he pulled at the press conference afterwards, well… it gives them some leeway. Because people think <em>he's lost it</em>.</p><p>Pepper does whatever she can to mitigate the damage, but there's not much she can do. As it is though, she's not sure she wants to. They're going to need time, god, she needs time just to come to terms with everything. Having people handle Tony with kid gloves even for a few weeks would come in handy. And they're going to need every moment before the shit would truly hit the fan.</p><p>So that's the first thing – keeping Tony out of jail at least. Piece of cake.</p><p>Second is heading off Obadiah and the Board of Directors so that they won't… <em>do</em> anything.</p><p>"Did you talk to him?" Obadiah asks over the phone while Pepper picks through racks of suits, checking sizes.</p><p>"I did, yes," Pepper says, her heart hammering in her ears, pounding against her Bluetooth headset. Blue or grey – maybe light grey. Ivory? No, that's too virginal and too noticeable from afar…</p><p>"<em>And</em>?"</p><p>"And I think he's still in shock," Pepper says, which is true. "He's lashing out, not thinking straight – and I think the press briefing came across wrong, not as he meant it. I hope what he meant was to close factories as a temporary measure, not permanently, but I couldn't get a straight answer yet. I'm going to talk to him today, once he's had a good night's sleep, and hopefully we can get it cleared up."</p><p>Obadiah hums. "So you don't think he's thinking clearly?" he says thoughtfully. "He's off his media game."</p><p>Pepper hesitates and then makes a gamble. "He was kidnapped, tortured, injured – I think he needs time more than anything," she says, and picks up the light grey suit.</p><p>"Yes, I think so too. A sick leave, if nothing else," Obadiah agrees. "I asked him to lay low for a while until we sort this out – do you think you could make him lay low for me, Pepper?"</p><p>"I can try," Pepper promises, adding the suit into the cart.</p><p>"Good, good. Now, about that robot he built – did he… tell you about it?"</p><p>Pepper pauses at that and chooses her words with care. "No, not really – he took it down to the workshop, and that was it," she says, which comes out a little lame. "I think he was a little embarrassed about it, to be honest. He means to take it apart and make a better one."</p><p>"Of course he is," Obadiah says with a fond-sounding chuckle. "Well, see if he'd be willing to work out some designs, a prototype. He's got a proof of concept down, but that's a far cry from a viable product. The sooner we have something to show the investors, the better,"</p><p>"I'll… see what I can do," Pepper says, starting fixedly at the shopping cart.</p><p>"Great, knew I could count on you, Pepper."</p><p>Feeling a little sick, Pepper says her goodbyes and then takes a deep breath before finishing her shopping.</p><p>Just talking to Obadiah wouldn't be enough, there'd still be more damage control to do, but it would do for a start – and hopefully keep Obadiah away for now. Thankfully, the dip their stock took wasn't as bad as predicted – something about Tony creating hitherto unknown technologies and showing them off to the press made people believe in the company – so it wasn't all bad. Maybe that would be enough to secure them against the future… and Tony against further attacks. Maybe.</p><p>She doesn't think she can rely on maybes though.</p><p>"All done?" Happy asks, opening the trunk as she pushes her cart to the car.</p><p>"Yes, this should be everything, as far as clothing goes. Pack it up, Happy, thank you," Pepper says, and as he does, she takes out her phone, hitting one on the speed dial.</p><p>"Yes, Miss Potts?"</p><p>"I'm done with the shopping – is there anything else Mr. Stark or his guests require before we head over?"</p><p>JARVIS is quiet for a moment, probably addressing Tony back at the mansion. "Mr. Stark would like for you to contact Mr. Saunders," he says then. "Sir wants to have all the bath tubs and hot tubs on the premises removed, as soon as possible."</p><p>Pepper frowns confusedly at that. "Why does he – never mind. I'll see to it. Is there anything else?"</p><p>"Mr. Stark would also like to remind Mr. Hogan about the nuggets and onion rings."</p><p>"The order has already been placed," Pepper assures him and checks her watch. "And they should be about ready for pick up too. If that's all, we should be there in twenty minutes."</p><p>"Very good, Miss Potts. We'll be looking forward to seeing you again."</p>
<hr/><p>Tony is working already when they arrive, knee deep in holograms and designs. Desmond and Yinsen are there too, watching him work from the side, Yinsen wearing the same suit he wore the day before and Desmond wearing Tony's track pants and a hoodie, neither of which fit him very well.</p><p>There's also music blasting at ear-splitting volumes, which Pepper turns down.</p><p>"Hey," Tony complains.</p><p>"Gentlemen," Pepper says, giving them all a smile. "Tony. There is food upstairs, along with sets of clothing for both Doctor Yinsen and Mr. Miles. I also got a set of hygiene products for you both, along with phones and laptops, registered to Stark Industries employees."</p><p>"Did you bring coffee?" Tony asks, lowering his hands and wiping away the holograms he'd been working on.</p><p>"Also upstairs," Pepper says.</p><p>"Awesome."</p><p>Watching them move around each other is interesting. Tony goes ahead, because of course he does, he always does. Yinsen follows more sedately, and Desmond brings up the rear, so to speak – not so much watching their backs, as he is simply being dragged along. Pepper considers them in the light of day and muses that maybe the ivory suit would've been better – the grey will undoubtedly make him look a bit drab. Ivory would bring out the warmer hues of his skin more.</p><p>Next time, she thinks, and makes a mental note of it – and at least she got Yinsen's colours right, though admittedly it was because she had his previous suit to compare to.</p><p>"Oh, wow," Desmond says when he sees the clothes waiting for them. "Were these… expensive?"</p><p>"Nothing Mr. Stark can't easily cover." Pepper says and smiles a little at his obvious awkwardness. "Don't worry about it – he's more than good for it, and you work for him now. Consider it a perk of the job – the rest of us do."</p><p>Desmond arches a brow while Yinsen examines the tan three piece suit Pepper got for him. "You too, huh?"</p><p>Pepper shrugs, smiling and sits down with Tony while Desmond and Yinsen go to try their new clothes on. "Obadiah called me this morning," Pepper tells him. "He wants me to ask you to produce a design and prototype of the Iron Man."</p><p>"The what now?" Tony asks, in between chicken nuggets.</p><p>"Desmond – the robot, Desmond?" Pepper says and looks at him. "Haven't you looked into what the media has been saying about you? They started calling Desmond the <em>Iron Man</em> yesterday, almost immediately after you landed."</p><p>"Been a little busy," Tony admits, chewing. "I have like half a dozen things I want to build in quick succession – Iron Man, huh? It's catchy. Completely wrong, though, the armour is mostly titanium alloy. Obi wants a prototype, hm…"</p><p>Pepper looks at him, concerned. "I haven't had the time to gauge the mood of the Board yet, but I can guess what they're thinking," she says and reaches for an onion ring. "You did give your so-called robot a pretty public entrance, all things considered. Everyone thinks you're going to start a production line."</p><p>"Little do they know," Tony says. "What else has been going on?"</p><p>Pepper brings him up to speed on everything, trying to get a sense of <em>his mood</em> now. He's rubbing at his chest again, but he looks better rested than the day before – and smells like he'd had a shower. It's hard to say if his mood is good or bad, though – mostly it just seems pinched. "Are you alright?"</p><p>"Fine, just fine," Tony says and reaches for another nugget. "How are our contracts looking – what are we shipping to whom and where? Weapons wise I mean."</p><p>Pepper brings out her tablet and goes through their standing contracts with him, while Tony listens with a frown. "I checked," Pepper adds. "None are reporting any significant loss of equipment, and though one shipment of automatic machine guns built by Stark Industries was captured in Afghanistan last year, there haven't been anything since. There should be no way for those weapons to get into Ten Rings' hands.</p><p>"Unless someone dealt under the table," Tony says. "Someone being Obi."</p><p>Pepper hums in agreement. "What are we going to do about it?"</p><p>Tony sighs and leans back against the backrest of the couch. "Still working on it," he says. "The weapons manufacture was halted, right? We're making nothing, shipping nothing."</p><p>"Well… there are some crates that are already set to be shipped out, and half-finished products that were deemed too volatile to be left incomplete, which should be completed sometime today. After that, though, the weapons factories will go into a standby," Pepper says and gives him a sideways look. "It would be better – for the workers as well as the Board – if we could go with calling it a temporary solution. We have good 5000 people working purely on weapons manufacture, and if we pull the plug – "</p><p>"Yeah, okay, go with that," Tony says, running a hand over his face. "No layoffs, not just yet. Hopefully never."</p><p>"Great, I'll let them know," Pepper says, relieved. "We also have some contracts that will need renegotiation – which will be enormously expensive. We're contracted by the United States Air Force for the next – "</p><p>"Okay, okay, I'll think it over," Tony says and waves a dismissive hand. "Figure out a way to resolve contract issues. Is anything metaphorically on fire yet?"</p><p>"Not as badly as we feared," Pepper says. "Iron Man did give us a bit of a publicity boost, so people are… waiting to see which way the other shoe will drop."</p><p>"Right, great," Tony says and looks up as they hear a door opening to one of the guest bedrooms. "I'm going to need something, Pepper. Don't let Desmond know, alright?"</p><p>"Hm?" Pepper asks, straightening her back.</p><p>"I need you to look into Abstergo Industries for me – but keep it under wraps, I don't want people to know it's me. But I want their stock. Alright?"</p><p>Pepper frowns confusedly. Abstergo Industries is a pharmaceutical company, what does that… and why keep it from <em>Desmond</em> in particular? "Alright, I'll see to it," she says, her curiosity rising. "But why –"</p><p>Tony holds his hand up, and Yinsen enters the room, wearing his new, tan suit. It's not tailored like Tony's suits – it's expensive, sure, but still off the rack, so it's not a perfect fit. But it's certainly in a better shape than his previous one, and Pepper is pleased that the tie selection she'd picked out had something he liked.</p><p>"Looking sharp, Yinsen," Tony grins.</p><p>"I hope the fit is alright," Pepper adds, smiling. "Once you're ready, Happy and I can take you shopping, find you something more suited to your tastes."</p><p>"This is more than good enough for me, thank you," Yinsen says and allows a slight smile as he runs a hand down the lapels of his coat. "I appreciate it – is there any chance of having my old suit cleaned up?"</p><p>"How about <em>burned</em>? It still smells like a cave," Tony asks.</p><p>Yinsen gives him a look. "That suit of clothes is the only thing I have left of my home, Stark."</p><p>There's a slight, wry sharpness to it, resignation, all of which speak of previous arguments and underlying issues, and it immediately makes Tony flounder and clamp up, as emotions usually do. Pepper speaks so he doesn't have to. "Of course, I will have Tony's usual tailor see what he can do to repair them. It won't be a problem."</p><p>"Thank you," Yinsen says and then Desmond comes in.</p><p>Pepper hadn't been sure whether he would like a one piece suit or three piece one, so she'd gone with a three piece suit that would still look decent even if Desmond decided to discard the vest. Desmond discarded the jacket instead – and the tie, leaving the collar slightly open.</p><p>"I'm not the one for suits, really," Desmond says, embarrassed, and sits down on one of the ottomans by the coffee table while rolling his sleeves up. "But thanks, Miss Potts, I appreciate it. Guess I should cut my hair too now, huh?"</p><p>Tony starts up beside Pepper – he'd been staring. "Don't you dare," he says quickly. "Grow it out a little, then, once you have something actually to <em>style,</em> we can talk about haircuts."</p><p>"It gets curly – I usually keep it short," Desmond says, carding his fingers through his dark, curling hair.</p><p>"Short – it's already <em>short</em>. How much shorter are we talking about?" Tony asks suspiciously, getting up and actually <em>going to him</em>, to walk consideringly around him. Pepper arches her brows, watching as Tony swats Desmond's fingers aside and flicks his own fingers at his hair, trying for a parting. "Yeah, no, more like…"</p><p>He gets the messy curls to fall a little forward over Desmond's forehead, leaning back, and Pepper's eyebrows come down suspiciously. "Nice," Tony says, appreciatively, petting Desmond's hair as the man looks steadily up at him.</p><p>"Didn't take you for a stylist," Desmond says slowly, staying still as Tony pretty much plays with his hair.</p><p>It seems it's around then that Tony realises what he's doing. "It's like you don't know me at all," he harrumphs and leans back. "Let it grow, and we'll talk about it again in a month. Make you look actually decent."</p><p>"<em>Hey</em> –"</p><p>"Have a chicken nugget," Tony says, grabbing one and shoving it at the man before stepping back and clapping his hands together. "Right, so – now that everybody is decent and no one looks like a hobo, let's talk about plans."</p><p>"Hm," Yinsen says from the side, a suspicious, thoughtful look about his face. "Well, I have made a list of potential doctors and gave it to JARVIS. JARVIS also let me know that your private doctor is very discreet and that we should be able to get the x-rays done at their clinic, with minimal wait time."</p><p>"I have taken liberty of enquiring of their services, and they have an opening tomorrow at the earliest," JARVIS adds.</p><p>Tony sighs. "Yes, alright, fine – Pepper, can you set it up, please?"</p><p>"Right away," she says, turning to her tablet and quickly typing up a message. "This would be for your chest?"</p><p>"Mmhm," Tony agrees. "And if JARVIS vets Yinsen's buddies, give them a call, the usual spiel, NDA's and whatnot – "</p><p>"I would prefer to approach them myself," Yinsen says, turning to Pepper. "Or at least, to send them a letter – the invitation might come across… different coming from a multi billion dollar company, rather than a colleague they know."</p><p>"We'll work it out together, then," Pepper agrees. "JARVIS, can you send the vetted IDs' to my tablet?"</p><p>"Right away, Miss Potts," JARVS agrees, and a new folder pops up on her home screen.</p><p>"Thank you very much," Pepper says. "Anything else?"</p><p>Tony rolls his jaw, thinking about it. "Yeah, no, I think that's it for a start. The rest is going to be workshop time," he says and glances at Desmond. "Anything you have in mind?"</p><p>"Hm? Oh, yeah – is that a real pool and can I go swim in it?" Desmond asks, pointing outside.</p><p>Tony lifts his head and looks through the back windows onto the patio – and to the pool sitting at the back end of the patio, facing the beach. "You – want to go swimming?" he asks. "After – "</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond says. "Unless, I don't know… you have people watching this place, paparazzi and whatnot. Then maybe not. But yeah."</p><p>"There are no unauthorised people on the premises, Mr. Miles," JARVIS assures him. "And the back patio is surrounded by walls at all sides except from the south side, facing the beach."</p><p>"It's pretty secure, yeah," Tony says and folds his arms. "Is this like – facing your fears thing? Assassin style?"</p><p>Desmond glances at him and shrugs. "Just want to know if I can, is all. Can I?"</p><p>"Sure, go right ahead. Did you get him a Speedo, Pepper?"</p><p>"I – did, actually," Pepper agrees, and feels a sudden sinking feeling as she finally realises why Tony wanted the tubs of the house gone. Shit. If she had realised, she wouldn't have. But, on the other hand, since the guy is looking to use them, uh… "I – hope I got the size right?"</p><p>"Awesome," Desmond says and reaches for an onion ring. "Thanks."</p><p>There's a moment of awkward silence as Tony stares at him with a mix of dismay and fascination, and then Tony shudders and looks away. "Right, so," he says and grabs a handful of chicken nuggets. "I have an arc reactor to finish, and then new armour to design, and then some other stuff, so – you guys talk amongst yourself, I'm going to go do science."</p><p>With that said, he grabs his coffee and heads down to the workshop – pretty much escaping the room.</p><p>"Hm," Yinsen says, looking after him and humming noncommittally. "Well, I will be writing those letters, then," he says. "Also, thank you for the laptop, Miss Potts, it's coming in handy."</p><p>"Good," Pepper says, blowing out a breath while Desmond snatches up some onion rings and heads up to the back window to look at the patio more closely. "Happy to help."</p><p>Then she adds a new point to the itinerary – praying to god that whatever Tony is doing and thinking isn't going to come back to bite him in the ass. She also makes a private bet with herself about how long it would take for Tony and Desmond to end up in bed together.</p><p>She gives it two weeks.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony juggles the issues for another day or so, making sure that the balls in the air aren't about to catch on fire. Stark Industries halts the weapons production as ordered – they're not happy about it, and he gets some strongly worded emails he happily ignores, but they do it. The media raises a stink about it, but they also like to talk about Iron Man and what it will mean for the future of warfare and home appliances, for some reason, so that's good. Stark Industries stock goes down, comes up, goes down again, as it changes hands between people all in for guns let go and people all in for the future of automation pick it up, and overall it's not as bad as Obi had feared. Their worth still goes down a <em>bit,</em> but it's not catastrophic.</p><p>Then Tony gets bored with it and concentrates on what he actually wants to do.</p><p>The arc reactor design is already finished, more or less – he'd finished the thing, it's there, in his chest, it doesn't need to be <em>invented</em>, just polished. It doesn't take long for him and JARVIS to fix it up, producing a set of parts for JARVIS to fabricate and Tony to put together.</p><p>"Congratulations, sir, by my estimation you have completely revolutionised the energy industry," JARVIS comments while Tony puts in the last bits of solder. "And are on the course of putting quite a few power plants out of business."</p><p>"Only if I begin producing these in a factory," Tony muses, leaning back. "And that's one of those slippery slopes we are not going to be thinking about just now."</p><p>He miniaturised a nuclear reactor down to a handful. Tony is <em>viscerally</em> aware of what kind of bomb it could make. Not that nuclear bombs aren't already devastating at their current size, but… this thing you could carry in a handbag. It has already given him some nightmares.</p><p>Tony finishes the solder and hooks the reactor wires up. "Alright, J, crank up the heat," he says. "Let's bring this baby online."</p><p>"As you wish, sir," JARVIS says, and on the table the new, improved arc reactor begins to glow.</p><p>Yinsen refuses to install it, though.</p><p>"You have an x-ray appointment first thing tomorrow," the man says when Tony asks him. "I would much rather we see to that first, and then see about replacing the reactor."</p><p>Tony lets out a frustrated breath. "In the cave you would've just put it on."</p><p>Yinsen gives him a look. "In the cave, we were at gunpoint. Now, we are not. Now, we can take care," he says. "Living our best lives, Mr. Stark, you said – taking unnecessary risks is <em>not</em> living our best lives."</p><p>"It actually is – could be. It's how a lot of people live their best lives – like skydivers," Tony complains and then sighs at the look he's being given. "Alright, alright, we'll get the x-rays done first."</p><p>Thankfully it doesn't take long. Happy drives them to the clinic the next morning, the machines are already set and fired up for him, and all Tony has to do is get in there, stand in this position for moment, this other position for a moment, and this third position for a moment, and then he can put his shirt and jacket on and <em>leave</em>. Yinsen picks up the actual x-rays on the way out, and overall they're in and out within half an hour.</p><p>Of course, then Yinsen insists on studying the x-rays at a length – <em>for almost four hours</em> kind of length – so Tony eventually gives up on waiting on him and starts working on the armour instead. It would take weeks, months to get the idea in his head out and into the physical reality, but for now he can at least knock out a makeshift in-between version – as in, non-powered armour for Desmond to wear to any public outings he might have to take his killer robot to. For that, he needs a full scan of Desmond – in as skintight a suit as possible.</p><p>Pepper gives him some very arched looks when he asks her to find a suit of spandex in Desmond's size. Desmond gives him an even longer one when Tony presents it to him.</p><p>"I am making new armour," Tony says defensively. "You're not going to wear a suit under it, the fabric might snag on the plates – skintight is safest. And you complained about being hot, so…"</p><p>"Christ, okay," Desmond says. "At least it's – different. But if I look ridiculous and you laugh, there will be consequences."</p><p>"Atta boy."</p><p>He doesn't look ridiculous in it. He looks <em>worrisome</em>. Desmond is still on the thin side, but the spandex hides none of the corded muscle on him. He's still not <em>built</em>, not the way Hollywood presents built people, nowhere close, but he has the look of a martial artist who's never bothered to lift weights because he was too busy kicking and beating the shit out of things.</p><p>"I am going to put salt in your coffee if you laugh, all your coffee," Desmond says, shifting his footing awkwardly.</p><p>Laughing was the last thing in Tony's mind. "You know, a lot of people add salt into their coffee, it undercuts the bitterness, actually makes it taste better," he babbles and turns away before he gets caught staring at the jut of Desmond's hipbones or something, Jesus. "JARVIS, J, scan him."</p><p>"Please lift your arms and hold them straight, Mr. Miles – this won't take long," JARVIS says and as Desmond obligingly lifts his arms, JARVIS' scanning rays wash over him at four different sides, catching all of his angles. "All done. Thank you for your cooperation."</p><p>"You're welcome, JARVIS," Desmond says and lets his hands drop. "So, can I be part of the building process this time? Because I have some suggestions."</p><p>"What, you have complaints?"</p><p>"The thing chafed me at eighteen different spots, so, yeah," Desmond asks. "For one, something to cushion the joints would be nice."</p><p>Tony isn't sure he can handle Desmond hanging around his workshop in spandex suit, but – fuck it. "Right, okay, come here. JARVIS, render the model and project – there."</p><p>As a blue scan of Desmond appears to stand in the workshop, Tony has Desmond point out all the places where the armour chafed and has him lay out all the thoughts he'd had about how to fix it. Apparently, most medieval armour was worn over clothes, sometimes over leather padding – even the hallowed Ezio wore pads under his armour to keep himself from bruising and chafing – so that's a thing.</p><p>Tony plans for an undersuit with padding in place – maybe not spandex, spandex was too much. Breathable fitted polyester-elastane mix with built-in padding on the problem areas maybe… he'd need to build the armour first, of course, to know for sure where the padding would need to go, but overall that would work better than wearing removable pads.</p><p>Desmond sits down to watch him with wide, interested eyes – still in the damn spandex, Tony has <em>many regrets</em> – as Tony throws himself into armour craft, now with a fully kitted out <em>proper</em> workshop at hand and all of modern technology at his disposal. "Music, Maestro," Tony says while bringing up his holographic design programs, and JARVIS gives them the opening beats of Robot Rock.</p><hr/><p>Yinsen adjusts the reactor socket, fixes up the wiring of the electromagnet, and installs the new reactor later that day, saying, "This must only ever be a temporary measure, Stark," as he does it, with gloved hands nimble inside the reactor mount. "By our estimation, the reactor casing impedes your lung capacity by 32 percent in total, and it is putting weight on your heart, which will cause complications in the long run – never mind whatever carrying a <em>nuclear reactor</em> in your chest will do."</p><p>"So, what do you suggest, Doctor," Tony asks, watching with fascination at the gaping <em>hole</em> in his chest. "I'm pretty sure the technology to fix the hole this big hasn't been invented."</p><p>"It has – it's called <em>bone grafting</em>," Yinsen says with a snort, and finishes the rewiring. "Of course, the procedure would have to coincide with the removal of the shrapnel, or else the whole thing will be a moot point. I think it will be… six months until the electromagnet has captured all the barbs in your system, at which time we can begin to consider their removal and reconstructive surgeries."</p><p>"Six months?" Tony asks, frowning.</p><p>"Just to be safe. Likely the electromagnet has already captured a large majority of the shrapnel, but even one reasonably sized one can tear a hole in your aorta," Yinsen says fatalistically and lifts the new reactor. "So, time, in this case, is to our benefit."</p><p>Tony leans back as Yinsen inserts the reactor in, turning it in place and snapping the locking mechanism in. It's already way lighter than the old casing. "Alright," Tony says and rubs at the skin around the reactor. "We'll make a date of it, then. Six months, reconstructive surgery."</p><p>"That is, of course, if carrying a nuclear reactor in your chest doesn't give you radiation poisoning first," Yinsen muses, and leans back.</p><p>"Hey, don't you diss my arc reactor – the tech is solid, and its shielding is perfect."</p><p>"Suppose we will see. What do you mean to do with the old reactor?" Yinsen asks, lifting the tray with the old reactor and magnet to the side so that Tony can get up again.</p><p>"Destroy it, get rid of it, incinerate it, I don't need it, it's an antique," Tony says and sits up, tapping his fingers against the new reactor. "Got a better one now. Thanks, Yinsen."</p><p>JARVIS informs him later that Yinsen exchanges some secretive words with Pepper and hands her the reactor – it shows up in Tony's workshop later, in a glass case, with the words, <em>To Living Our Best Lives</em>, underneath it. Yinsen, Tony decides with delight, is a <em>dick</em>.</p><hr/><p>"JARVIS, where's Desmond?" Tony asks, handing the helmet to the articulated arm and watching JARVIS take it down into the array, to join the rest of the pieces. It had taken him a few days, but the last of the somewhat improved armour is finished – no power yet, no mechanics, just good old bits of metal with… maybe some bells and whistles, but nothing like what he really wants. "I need him here, he has armour to test for me."</p><p>"Mr. Miles is at the pool with Doctor Yinsen – shall I buzz them for you, sir?" JARVIS asks, while the panels close, hiding the armour.</p><p>Tony blinks, lifting his head. At the pool – "Show them to me?" he asks, turning away from the array, and JARVIS opens up a security camera feed on one of the nearer screens. It shows him a feed of Yinsen and Desmond sitting at the edge of the pool, Desmond in a Speedo, Yinsen in a full suit, with shoes and socks sitting beside him, and trouser legs rolled up as he soaks his feet in the water.</p><p>"… anyone to call, anyway," Desmond is saying, pushing his hair back from his face. "Not sure what to do with the laptop either, though I guess it's good for looking up the news and watching stuff on YouTube. "</p><p>"You do have a family out there, don't you?" Yinsen asks.</p><p>"In hiding, sure. Wouldn't know how to contact them even if I wanted to, and I don't really want to," Desmond says with a shrug and looks at him. "But I guess it kind of makes me feel at loose ends here. I'm not really… doing anything, just hanging around, living it up on Stark's expense."</p><p>"You do have a role to play, as Iron Man. And Mr. Stark seems entirely amenable to letting us live at his expense, he's all but insisting on it," Yinsen muses.</p><p>"Yeah, the guy doesn't mind, but still – I'm not like you. You're actually helping him, I'm just – freeloading," Desmond says and leans back, all the way back, lying down on the floor, his feet in the water. "At least in the Animus it felt like I was accomplishing something – I was learning things. Still haven't told you what I did learn."</p><p>"Hm," Yinsen answers, loosening his tie. "How has it been, since you stopped using it? Have the side effects lessened?"</p><p>"You mean, do I still get hallucinations?"</p><p>"Well, yes."</p><p>Desmond is quiet for a moment, while Tony sits down, folding his arms on his work bench, watching them. He can't see their expressions on the screen, the camera resolution isn't good enough.</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond says finally. "I'm not sure if they're getting worse, or if it's because I'm no longer spending all the time in the Animus, so they got more time to happen, but – yeah. I've been trying to –" he stops and crosses his hands behind his neck, sighing. "I'm handling it, and it never lasts for long, just a few seconds."</p><p>"Hm. We will need to look into it," Yinsen says. "Mr. Stark intends to rebuild the Animus – it might be that we should speed that process along. Of course," he adds with a hum. "It could make things worse for you."</p><p>Desmond sighs. "Yeah. Is it weird that I kind of miss it – that I feel like I need to go back there? The thing probably left me permanently damaged, but..."</p><p>"You want to finish what you started," Yinsen asks, neutrally.</p><p>"I – there was this thing that happened, just before we busted out of the caves, that… fuck, it was something else. Ezio had one of the pieces of Eden, he used it to open this Vault in the Vatican, and there was this – there was a <em>hologram</em> there, of one of the people who built the Pieces of Eden. She had a message."</p><p>"What was the message?"</p><p>"I – I don't know if I got it, really. It was about these – these <em>stones</em>," Desmond says. "I thought they were Pieces of Eden too, but the way she talked about them… Something about them coming together, or being brought together, and causing a disaster."</p><p>Yinsen hums. "Well, whatever it is, seeing that Ezio lived five centuries ago, I doubt they're a risk anymore – "</p><p>"See, that's the thing. Minerva, she wasn't talking to Ezio," Desmond says. "She was talking to me."</p><p>"… perhaps an error in the Animus?"</p><p>"Maybe, I don't know. Wish I could take a look at it again, you know – relive the memory again. Hell, wish I could record it, somehow," Desmond muses and then kicks with his foot, splashing the water a little. "Anyway, those are my hangups – what are yours?"</p><p>Yinsen sighs, resting his hands in his lap and looking away from the pool and out to the sea. "I…" he says and then sighs.</p><p>"You should take Stark up on the grief counselling stuff," Desmond says. "I know it probably doesn't seem like it will help, but – it's a thing for a reason."</p><p>"I'm not sure I want it," Yinsen murmurs.</p><p>"Yeah – that's the <em>not seeming like it will help</em> part talking, I think… though I guess I'm not the one to talk," Desmond says, looking away while Tony feels a terrible tightness in his throat, like he'd swallowed something cold and everything was suddenly constricting. Yinsen doesn't say anything, and Desmond sits up, stretching. "I'd be pretty fucking sad if you'd died, Yinsen. You know that, right?"</p><p>Yinsen's shoulders slump and he reaches over to ruffle Desmond's wet hair, an awkward, rough, but very much a fatherly gesture.</p><p>"Turn it off," Tony murmurs to JARVIS, and then Tony buries his head in his arms for a moment, breathing in and out.</p><p>Then he gets up and heads outside. Yinsen is still sitting by the poolside with his feet in the water, but Desmond is actually in the pool, leaning to the side. And damn – he really can just <em>do that.</em> Despite the fact that he, that the Ten Rings – <em>damn</em>.</p><p>"Hey," Desmond says, spotting him. "What's up?"</p><p>"Got you a new armour, I need to test the fit," Tony says, shoving his hands into his pockets and keeping a good seven feet between himself and the pool. "Whenever you feel like it, no hurries. Hey, Yinsen," he says to the man, nodding. "Enjoying the pool?"</p><p>"It's a lovely day," Yinsen agrees and looks up at him. "You could do with some sun yourself, Mr. Stark – you're still a little pale. Any more, and we're going to have to worry about your vitamin D intake."</p><p>Tony arches his brows. Well. That's a double entendre if he ever heard one. "Never thought someone would ever tell <em>me</em> I needed to loosen up and get a tan," he says but glances around and then pulls up a sun chair a little closer. "How's the water?"</p><p>"It's great," Desmond says, watching him, noting the distance he's keeping, and then looking away.</p><p>Tony sits down. "So what are you two up to – just hanging around?"</p><p>"Pretty much," Desmond says.</p><p>"We were discussing the Animus," Yinsen says. "We brought with us the data cores from the Animus computer, yes?"</p><p>"I also ripped out some of the electronics from the chair," Desmond agrees. "What looked important – you know, under Eagle Sense."</p><p>Tony arches a brow. "It can be used for that too, huh?" he asks and leans his elbows to his knees, watching him. Desmond doesn't look like he's struggling – but then, his poker face when hiding pain has always been pretty good. "I wanted to finish up the suit before tackling the Animus, but I guess with an intermediate suit ready – if it fits right – we can start working on that too. I want to develop it further, too – use it to its actual full potential."</p><p>Desmond hesitates at that and glances at Yinsen. "What does <em>full potential</em> mean with the Animus?" he asks worriedly. "Like the suit, you're gonna make it fly and stuff, I get that, but the Animus is just…"</p><p>"It's a brain interface," Tony says, waving a hand. "Not that it was used like that, from what I could tell – maybe people didn't realise it worked like that, but – the thing literally <em>reads your mind</em>. It projects<em> into</em> your mind – right? The whole deep dive experience of reading generic memories, it's give and take. Processing happens both in your brain and in the Animus."</p><p>"I guess?" Desmond shrugs. "Yinsen would know better."</p><p>Yinsen sighs. "I really don't – it's not my area of expertise," he admits. "Though I have been reading up on it, and, yes, the Animus both reads and projects electronic signals to the brain. It's – I suppose you could call it a targeting system, reading and then sending the signals of the DNA data to corresponding areas of the brain for full interpretation."</p><p>"Among other, gamma radiation related things," Tony agrees, still watching Desmond and trying to figure out how badly off he really is. They'd had public appearances together, and nothing had shown outwardly, and he said the episodes were small, but… . "So my idea is, rebuild the Animus and derive better tech from there. Namely, once I actually make the full, powered up suit, you're going to be able to control it with your brain."</p><p>"… huh," Desmond says, arching his brows. "That's… goddamn epic."</p><p>Tony grins despite his worry. "Isn't it just," he says. "Granted, if we get it to work. Gotta rebuilt the Animus first. And test it." And hopefully fix the guy's brain. "You two feel up to it?"</p><p>"Sure thing – "</p><p>"Sir," JARVIS interrupts them. "Mr. Stane is at the front gates – he will be here in approximately four minutes."</p><p>Tony sits up. "<em>Shit</em>, okay – Desmond, get up. Yinsen, can you stall Obadiah for me, until I get him in the suit?"</p><p>"I – what should I say –" Yinsen hesitates.</p><p>"Talk to him about potential medical venues for Stark Industries or something – I don't know – make up something."</p><p>Tony has a moment to appreciate the sight of Desmond rising from the water, before he quickly ushers the man inside and down into the workshop, where Dummy is laying out the brand-spanking-new polyester-elastane undersuit, and the freshly fabricated plates of the armour gleam under the shop lights.</p><p>"JARVIS, black out the wall and engage privacy settings – close the garage," Tony orders while Desmond wipes the worst of the water off himself with an oil-stained towel he'd picked up by the entrance. "Put that on, and we'll see about the fit."</p><p>Desmond looks at the new suit and with a shrug slings the towel around his neck – and then he takes the speedo off, and Tony nearly has an apoplexy before quickly turning to look away. Thankfully, it doesn't take Desmond long to pull the new undersuit on, and – it's in <em>no way</em> less obscene looking than the spandex, and the lines Tony had had printed along it – guides for the armour – don't do much to <em>not</em> enhance every line of his body. But at least he's not <em>naked</em>. Desmond wiggles his arms into the suit and then stretches a little this way and that to adjust the fit before turning to him.</p><p>"So, field testing with murderous business partners?" Desmond asks.</p><p>"Yeah," Tony says and looks at him. "You feel up to it?"</p><p>"That's why I'm here, yeah?"</p><p>"No," Tony says, meeting his eyes. "Do you <em>feel </em>up to it? Can you do this?" Can he keep on doing it?</p><p>Desmond blinks and then meets his eyes, reading the seriousness on his face. "<em>Yes</em>," he says. "I can do it. Where's the armour?"</p><p>Okay. Good enough for Tony. "Here," Tony says, taking him by the shoulders and guiding him to the hidden array. "Stand right – there. Wider stance, shoulder width, spread out your arms – there, good, excellent. JARVIS, button him up."</p><p>Tony has more than entertained the thought of making the armour for himself. He probably would, later – the proper, final armour would be powered by the arc reactor, and he comes with a built in one, so it's a perfect fit, really. But on the other hand…</p><p>Watching the floor break apart into panels as JARVIS lifts up his articulated arms, with all the armour plates ready to be screwed in, yeah, that's something else. Desmond arches his brows and glances at Tony, but he stays still as JARVIS begins fitting the plates on – and this time Tony knows their names too.</p><p>"Please, step in, sir," JARVIS says, and with arched brows Desmond steps into the metallic shoes being offered to him, even as the greaves and cuisses come on, both in two pieces, encasing his legs from back and front and screwing together. The plackart and the faulds over it – a skirt of metal, this time with an intentionally slightly more robotic look to it, with curved lines and sharp edges. Desmond hums and lifts his chin as the breastplate and backplate come in, and at the same time his arms are cased in metal as well, with fully metal gauntlets this time, rather than leather ones.</p><p>"Yeah, I can <em>build,</em> I sure can build," Tony sighs with satisfaction, folding his arms as JARVIS fixes in pauldrons and encases Desmond's neck in a flexible – but still bulletproof – gorget. The look is finished with the helmet and faceplate, and then Desmond stands there in a full robotic glory, every inch of human skin covered up.</p><p>Tony had added a lot to the design, compared to the first one. The suit is lighter, for one, weighing only around ninety pounds now. While more streamlined, for appearances sake he had to keep it looking robotic, or else it would really look like just a human wearing armour. There are some visible bearings at the joints, and he'd added in some wires, the purpose of which is nothing but to <em>be</em> there.</p><p>He'd also made armour sound robotic. It whirs and clicks when Desmond steps forward, each joint making its own noise, as if there's hydraulics in there, powering the thing.</p><p>"You sexy motherfucker," Tony says, looking at him and reaching to run his hands down Desmond's neck and shoulders. The fit is <em>perfect</em>, not a loose plate, not an inch of space wasted. "Look at you. Damn."</p><p>"Mr. Stark," Desmond says, mock affronted. "Not in front of the other bots! For shame."</p><p>"You could use a little colour," Tony muses, running his hands down. "Still looks a little too much like medieval armour. Maybe we should've painted it."</p><p>"I'm afraid it will have to wait, sir," JARVIS says regretfully. "Mr. Stane has arrived."</p><p>"Yeah," Tony says and raps Desmond's chest with his knuckles. A little bit nuts or not, here they go. "Come on – let's go give Obi a show."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At any given time, JARVIS is running through hundreds of different processes, most of them in the background, some of them upfront – all of them for Mr. Stark's benefit. Ever since Mr. Stark had came back from Afghanistan, the one that has been taking increasingly more and more of JARVIS' computational prowess is the simple question of, <em>How to maximise Mr. Stark's safety at every given moment.</em></p><p>There have always been threats to Mr. Stark's life, that's why the security at the mansion is among the best in the world, and that's why Mr. Stark has always hired himself bodyguards. There have been opponents to him personally and to his company in general for as long as JARVIS has existed, and one of the very first jobs JARVIS had had to do with security – specifically, monitoring Mr. Stark's home and his communications for any kind of threats.</p><p>Granted, normally those threats were the class of <em>will this person commit industrial espionage</em> and <em>will this person sell Mr. Stark's secrets given the chance</em> and <em>is this person affiliated with the media</em>.</p><p>Now, JARVIS is constantly having to re-calculate which is the greatest threat. The internet is brimming with hateful comments, there are approximately eighty death threats in Mr. Stark's email, which JARVIS is backtracking in case they prove out to be serious, he's already been targeted by one terrorist organisation with an alarming level of access to his schedule… and then there is Obadiah Stane.</p><p>JARVIS has already had two thousand and fourteen attempts of assessing the threat level of Obadiah Stane, only for it to come woefully short. Previous history, past interactions, and old character analysis kept skewing the results in Mr. Stane's favour – he has been, historically, protective of Mr. Stark. And yet, he'd also organised Mr. Stark's kidnapping and attempted murder. So, JARVIS calculates, again.</p><p>He has similar calculations for all of Mr. Stark's closest confidantes.</p><p>Miss Potts is a threat level 2 – she has proven herself trustworthy, with numerous cases of coming face to face with the media and other potential threats and standing up in their favour. Her recent discussions with Obadiah Stane also are to her favour – she is acting as a defensive element to Mr. Stark, attempting to mitigate the danger to him. Still, Mr. Stark also harbours enough affection for her for any potential fallout in the relationship to be truly harmful, and therefore, she is level 2.</p><p>Col. Rhodes is level 4. He and Mr. Stark have a history of personal conflicts, and they now stand opposed ideologically – Col. Rhodes being naturally on the side of United States Military and weapons development, which Mr. Stark is now against. Generally though, they have mostly been on each other's side, and Col. Rhodes has defended Mr. Stark on numerous occasions. Still, the fact that JARVIS has no recent data on Col. Rhodes makes further analysis difficult, but once the Colonel returns to the States, JARVIS would be keeping a close eye on him.</p><p>Mr. Hogan is at threat level 0. The man acts as a stalwart bodyguard and always has been – he has saved Mr. Stark's life no less than 14 times, either by adjusting his schedule or his travel routes to pre-emptively avoid troubling situations, or by simply standing in between Mr. Stark and whatever danger situation posed. Once, the man took a literal bullet for Mr. Stark. JARVIS has minimal concerns about him.</p><p>And now, Mr. Stark's newest confidantes.</p><p>Dr. Yinsen is at threat level 3, and most of the threat he poses is either psychological, or it has to do with Mr. Stark's injuries and wounds – the man causes quite a deal of unaddressed stress to Mr. Stark. The fact that both Mr. Stark and Mr. Miles believe him to be suicidal, depressed, as well as traumatised – as are they all – also causes some concern. He did, however, also save Mr. Stark's life and is now working on repairing the injuries Mr. Stark suffered, and therefore, JARVIS gives him the benefit of the doubt – all the while keeping a constant watch on him, as requested by Mr. Stark.</p><p>And then there is Mr. Miles – who, like Mr. Stane, possesses a threat level JARVIS cannot quite calculate – though unlike Mr. Stane, whose analysis is skewed by previous actions, Mr. Miles' character analysis is difficult to complete due to the fact that there is so little data to go on. Next to none, before his appearance and captivity in Afghanistan. It doesn't help that Mr. Stark has yet to add in all he learned of his companions during the said captivity.</p><p>Mr. Miles has no background that JARVIS can find – he has no identity, no social security number, no birth certificate, nothing. Facial recognition finds nothing, name searches come up empty – or bring up individuals completely unrelated to this particular Mr. Miles – and even when JARVIS manages to scan the man's fingerprints, that helps him not at all – they aren't on any file or record he can access.</p><p>And yet, there are a litany of casual comments from Mr. Stark and Mr. Miles himself, which prove that there <em>should</em> be more.</p><p>1. Ten Rings traded Mr. Stark's assassination-turned-kidnapping for Mr. Miles' own kidnapping – and Mr. Stane was the one who found Mr. Miles, therefore, there was something to be found.</p><p>2. Mr. Miles apparently worked and lived in New York before his kidnapping – as a bartender, if his throwaway comment given to Mr. Stark's minibar is anything to go by.</p><p>3. He is an assassin and descends from a lineage of supposedly famous assassins.</p><p>4. His parents are known, in hiding, and part of an unidentified group with a <em>reason</em> to be in hiding.</p><p>5. There are supposedly alien artefacts that are somehow connected to Mr. Miles' kidnapping, and to the device known as the Animus, which Mr. Stark has mentioned, but not yet elaborated on.</p><p>All these are things that indicate that there should be something JARVIS should be able to find online, and yet, he cannot find proof of any of it. All he has to go on are those throwaway comments, what little the United States Air Force has logged concerning their investigation into the Ten Rings camp – and now, Mr. Miles' new career as the supposed robot, Iron Man.</p><p>The man is undoubtedly lethal, and not only capable, but <em>willing</em> to kill people. He is physically strong to a worrisome, though JARVIS can't say if it's to <em>a superhuman, </em>degree. The words <em>gamma radiation</em> have been evoked more than once, and even once is alarming. Mr. Miles also possesses apparently physic abilities, leaning towards empathy, perhaps telepathy, or clairvoyance.</p><p>He also hallucinates often enough for it to be called <em>regularly, </em>and occasionally speaks in tongues in what little sleep he gets.</p><p>JARVIS has <em>concerns</em> about him.</p><p>For now, he classifies Mr. Miles' threat level at 10, with a caveat that so far he seems in no way hostile towards Mr. Stark, Dr. Yinsen, or any of Mr. Stark's trusted confidantes or his equipment.</p><p>But he also says, offhand, "I could just kill him, you know," concerning Obadiah Stane, which Mr. Stark declines with a sputter. Unbothered, Desmond Miles then spends the whole of Mr. Stark's and Mr. Stane's meeting standing behind Mr. Stark, impassable, steady and not so subtly intimidating, which makes Mr. Stane noticeably less <em>handsy</em> with Mr. Stark's person.</p><p>So, JARVIS is inclined to give him, too, the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>"I'm just saying, Tony," Mr. Stane says, "If I had something to give to the Board, a bone to throw at them, I think they would be better inclined to follow through with your new direction. Let our engineers have a look –"</p><p>"No, this one stays on me," Mr. Stark says, leaning towards Mr. Miles' – Iron Man's – person. "Until the internal investigation's gone through and Rhodey is done in Afghanistan, I don't know who to trust yet, and this one I don't want to leak into terrorist hands. I'm sure you understand."</p><p>"Internal investigation," Mr. Stane repeats, and JARVIS gauges his tone of voice at <em>surprised</em> and <em>stilted.</em></p><p>"Oh, Pepper didn't tell you? Reason why I wanted the weapons development shut down for now is because someone's double-dealing under the table," Mr. Stark says, and JARVIS register's Mr. Stane's heartbeat rising and quietly logs it into the system. Mr. Stark continues, "Someone is selling my stuff to the bad guys, and it's not showing up on the books."</p><p>"You think there's someone defrauding the company?" Mr. Stane asks.</p><p>"I know someone is," Mr. Stark says. "All's left to figure out who and how many on the Board are involved. We're getting to the bottom of it – and until then, Iron Man and everything else I came up with in that cave, they stay with me."</p><p>Mr. Stane is still for a moment and then he sighs. "Damn," he says. "Okay, Tony. Okay, we – we do this properly then. Who have you on the line to run the investigation?"</p><p>Mr. Stark smiles. "Oh, Pepper has a whole page of candidates, from NSA down to a whole bunch of labour unions," he says. "It's not just a defraud case – someone sold United States military hardware to Afghanistan-based terrorists. That's treason, I hear. There are a <em>lot</em> of interested parties."</p><p>"Right," Mr. Stane says, slow, looking away from Mr. Stark to Iron Man, and then to Dr. Yinsen, who has taken a seat by the couch and is watching them over his laptop screen. "Right. Well."</p><p>Mr. Stane doesn't stay for very long afterwards, commending Mr. Stark on his cunning and sharpness and then taking his leave, post haste. JARVIS compares the duration of his visit and the speed of his exits to previous similar visits, and deems that it could be called <em>fleeing</em>.</p><p>"JARVIS," Mr. Stark says. "Inform Pepper, and put tabs on the Board of Directors – and the moment they start selling their stock and going underground, you let me know. Have you ran through the list of candidates for the investigation?"</p><p>"Yes, sir," JARVIS agrees, pinging Miss Potts and sending her a transcript of the conversation. "I have narrowed the list down to 5 trustworthy independent corporate analysts, who have shown impartiality to both Stark Industries previous and current mandate and have several successful internal corporate investigations under their belt. I would also suggest contacting General Neal and informing appropriate government offices."</p><p>"Forward all of that to Pepper, she can handle it," Mr. Stark says and turns to Mr. Miles. "Lets kick this ant-nest a little, shall we?"</p><p>"You have no chill, do you?" Mr. Miles asks wryly. "I thought we were going to figure out the armour and stuff out first."</p><p>"Yeah, well, that was before I saw how pale Obi went," Mr. Stark says, "And how he looked at you. And, excuse me if having been almost killed makes me carry a bit of a grudge, but… well, it does."</p><p>"You know, if he has any incriminating evidence about any of this, he's probably on his way to destroy it right now… you know that, right?" Mr. Miles points out. "You basically just gave him the heads up."</p><p>Mr. Stark considers that for a moment. "Ah," he says. "Shit."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Right," Mr. Stark says, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet and then doing a quick turn. "Okay – fancy a trip to Stark Industries office? Yinsen, we're going out, don't wait up!"</p><p>"Have fun," Dr. Yinsen answers, wryly and turns his attention back to the medical journal he's reading, shaking his head as he does.</p><p>JARVIS quietly puts a call for Ms. Potts, and through her tablet camera he can see how Ms. Potts nearly tears out her hair, reading the transcript and hearing Mr. Stark's request – and the fallout. "Goddamn it, Tony – you couldn't give it any time, could you?"</p><p>JARVIS sympathises utterly.</p><hr/><p>Mr. Stark's solution to the issue of potential evidence is to have Stark Industries head office completely cleared out. It's drastic, by JARVIS' estimation, but also semi-effective – as the company servers can only be accessed from corresponding terminal and locations due to security reasons – and therefore, no one can delete data from the servers except from the head office, and even then it requires IT approval.</p><p>In the meanwhile, Ms Potts speed-hires three different corporate analysts, and informs the right officials – with great heaping of apologies for the short notice, with the lament of, "Unfortunately, Mr. Stark decided this could not wait, and went ahead with it before the matter could be discussed further."</p><p>JARVIS quietly tags all the three analysts to watch, following them closely. The first to reach the head office is Mrs. Rojas, a Malibu local, a former corporate lawyer and a known hard-ass, according to her profiles. She and Mr. Stark are briefly acquainted from a charity gala both had taken part in and danced at very briefly.</p><p>"You know how to throw a party, don't you, Mr. Stark," she says, shaking his hand firmly while Ms. Potts hurries to the scene. JARVIS watches them all through the head office surveillance system – which he technically doesn't have access to, but in practice has been attached to his systems since the building's construction</p><p>"You know me, it's a show every other day," Mr. Stark answers. "I hear we're waiting for a few others to join the party, so… coffee?"</p><p>"No thank you, already had a cup," Mrs. Rojas says and looks at Mr. Miles, standing behind Mr. Stark. "So this is the famous Iron Man. Looks like you upgraded."</p><p>"Yes, well, the previous chassis was built in a cave, he needed a tune-up. He's just here for my security, no need to worry," Mr. Stark says and then looks up. "Ah, Ms. Potts."</p><p>"Mr. Stark," Ms. Potts says through gritted teeth. "For once, ahead of schedule."</p><p>"Er, well," Mr. Stark says. "Sorry, it just – sort of happened. I let my mouth run away from me – but on other hand," he says quickly. "It'll get the ball rolling that much faster –"</p><p>"I would have preferred the slightest of heads up that the ball was on the way –" </p><p>"- and the quicker we clear all of this up the faster we can go to business as usual –"</p><p>"- and I thought we had a plan for this, I thought we were going to take time with this –"</p><p>Mrs. Rojas watches them with arched brows and quietly takes out a pad and a pen and begins writing their dialogue down in shorthand.</p><p>Mr. Sosa is the next to arrive, giving Mrs. Rojas a sideways look – and latest is Mr. Vasilev, and by that point there's a crowd of reporters by the building entrance, being held back by Stark Industries Security, clamouring for a shot of whatever action is going on. It would, by JARVIS' estimation, be local, if not national, news by the end of the hour. Between the three analysts there are stiffly shaken hands and sideways looks, which only get worse when Ms. Potts informs them that there is every chance of federal law enforcement being brought into the mix.</p><p>"Right," Mrs. Rojas says, as they settle down in Stark Industries cafeteria. "How about we begin with your suspicions, accusations and any proof you have on record concerning illegal or unethical activities. And <em>how</em>, exactly, did Mr. Stark let his mouth run away from him and how did this lead to the sudden need for internal investigation?"</p><p>JARVIS counts later on, that the start of the investigation and the ensuing tour of the facility and its internal servers is the longest period of time Mr. Stark has spent at the office since 2005.</p><hr/><p>"Goddamnit, Tony," Col. Rhodes says as his greeting, when he finally returns JARVIS' call and is brought up to speed. "There's a <em>system</em> to these things! You can't just – out someone like that, like it's a damn British crime drama!"</p><p>"In my defence, it didn't happen like that?" Mr. Stark offers. JARVIS doesn't have a visual neither on him – he's driving – nor on Col. Rhodes – he's still in Afghanistan – but he's running voice analysis and theorising potential expressions. Col. Rhodes is committing an act known as <em>face palming,</em> and Mr. Stark is stressed, but grinning. "I just told Obi that we were going to run an internal investigation, and then I kick-started it –"</p><p>"You know our investigation here is still ongoing, right –"</p><p>"Why, were you actually getting somewhere with it?"</p><p>Mr. Miles is, JARVIS knows from the last footage he has on Mr. Stark's car, seated on the passenger seat beside Mr. Stark, and JARVIS would like a visual of his expression. Perhaps because while he can deliberate from previous data with Mr. Stark and Col. Rhodes, he cannot do the same with Mr. Miles. Especially since by his calculation Mr. Miles must've had at least 3 hallucination episodes since putting the armour on, but none of them showed outwardly.</p><p>JARVIS isn't sure if he should be relieved or concerned how well Mr. Miles can hide his episodes, when his face isn't visible. In the armour, they don't show at all.</p><p>"Actually," Col. Rhodes says then. "We did get something – there are shipping manifests, order forms, and <em>emails from Stark Industries email addresses. </em>We were just in the process of handing the investigation over to the FBI, which would've taken over the process state-side – you've just pulled the rug from under them."</p><p>"Aren't they supposed to be like, trained for unusual situations? I'm sure they can handle it," Mr. Stark says. "Never mind that – what else did you find back there, anything interesting? No photos of me, I hope?"</p><p>"We did find something," Col. Rhodes says, in tone of voice JARVIS marks as <em>pointed</em>, as in <em>more is being conveyed between the lines by associations he likely doesn't have on record</em>. "A couple of emails concerning the kidnapping of Desmond Miles."</p><p>"… ah. Yeah," Mr. Stark says, his tone going stiff.</p><p>"Kid died right after you got there, <em>right</em>?"</p><p>JARVIS puzzles over the words, but Mr. Stark seems to get them right away. "Right, yeah – it was – tragic. Terrible – did you find out where he came from, I never learned – "</p><p>"No, there wasn't much about him here," Col. Rhodes says. "But it looks like it was someone in Stark Industries who found him – so you might want to keep that in mind."</p><p>"Shit," Mr. Stark says, eloquent. "Listen, albatross, appreciate the call, but I'm about to get into a – a thing, I gotta call you back later."</p><p>"Yeah – I'm shipping back to the States in a couple days, I'll catch up with you then."</p><p>JARVIS loses his touch with Mr. Stark as the call is terminated – there is no monitoring equipment on the car, unfortunately – but Mr. Stark and Mr. Miles are still talking when they enter the mansion premises, and the discussion is still going when they come into the range of JARVIS' microphones.</p><p>"… really know – also I was going by a different name, then," Mr. Miles says. "Derek Milton – I have no idea how they connected Desmond to Derek."</p><p>"Huh – I didn't know you used false names," Mr. Stark comments, as he stands up from the car, closing the door after himself</p><p>"Yeah, I haven't used Desmond Miles as a name since leaving the Farm when I was sixteen."</p><p>Mr. Stark glances at him, suspicious. "… did you use the same initials all the time?"</p><p>It's impossible to see Mr. Miles' expression, but the way he tilts his head is somewhat awkward. "… Well. I reasoned that if I had to live under a false name, it might as well be one I could quickly get used to? Also, made signing things easier. So there was that."</p><p>Mr. Stark stops at that, just short of entering the mansion. "Oh my <em>god</em>, Desmond, don't tell me you signed everything with your <em>initials</em>."</p><p>Mr. Miles hesitates further and then sighs, the shoulders of the armour coming up and then descending. "In my defence, I was sixteen when I ran away, and… Yeah, there's – nothing I can say to defend myself here, is there?"</p><p>"And here I thought <em>I</em> was being stupid today. Guess it's going around," Mr. Stark says with a snort and turns back to the doors. "Well. Come on, let's go see what kind of train wreck we've cooked up here."</p><p>Privately, JARVIS upgrades Mr. Miles' threat level to 11, and begins the background check all over again. In the meanwhile, Ms. Potts debriefs the agent from FBI concerning the internal investigation, and informs them that anything Stark Industries could do to assist in investigating the guilty parties, they would do – aside from giving them access to Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark's latest projects, or Iron Man or anything related to it. It's going to be a long negotiation.</p><p>JARVIS logs it all down, and then sends Ms. Potts a quick warning – it seems as though Mr. Stane is attempting to flee the country.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dumbasses deserve each other.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It would take weeks, if not months, before the Stark Industries internal investigation would run its course, according to Pepper. Desmond can't even claim to understand any of it, the whole thing started going beyond his head the moment Stark started calling for corporate analysts and federal agencies and bringing in actual secret goddamn agents. By that point Desmond started also being <em>very very</em> glad about the armour, and that both Stark and Pepper were vehement about Iron Man being untouchable.</p><p>Apparently the patents had been rushed through, and Stark Industries could and would lawyer up to high heavens to keep his secrets. Desmond would be flattered, if it wasn't just a tad terrifying. Okay, more than a tad.</p><p>"Don't you worry your pretty head over it," Stark says, patting his armoured shoulder. "Pepper and I will take care of everything, all you need to do is stand there and look – robotic. And intimidating. And like you will kill everyone in the room at my say so."</p><p>"I might, depending on who's in the room," Desmond says, mostly for the lack of anything better to say.</p><p>Stark fakes swooning. "My hero."</p><p>Media is having a field day over all of it, of course. It's front page news for days, as people realise what's going on, then the possibility of <em>Betrayal at the Stark Industries</em> leaks out, and then on the third day it turns into <em>TREASON?!</em> with all capitals, and overall it's just a very exciting news week. Stark is asked to give approximately eight hundred interviews. Under the threat of castration and worse by the corporate analysts and Pepper, he only gives one, very briefly, on the steps of Stark Industries head office, with Desmond standing behind him, doing his best to look impassable and threatening.</p><p>"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark! Is there a correlation between your captivity in Afghanistan and Stark Industries internal investigation – sir, were Stark Industries employees part of the kidnapping conspiracy?"</p><p>"Oh, there's a <em>conspiracy</em> now, nice," Stark answers, delighted. "Kidnapping conspiracy sounds kinda lame, though, someone rename that, rebrand it. Conspiracy to murder sounds much nicer, I think – conspiracy to defraud, conspiracy to treason, much more oomph, there…"</p><p>There's a bit of corporate jargon and about how <em>Stark Industries will be working closely together with this and that government agency to resolve the situation quickly</em> and so on and so on, and then, "Mr. Stark, can you confirm that Stark Industries CFO, Obadiah Stane, was directly responsible for your kidnapping, and has since fled the country?"</p><p>"Yeah, I'm going to have to get back to you on that," Mr. Stark says and then moves to duck away. One of the reporters goes to nearly grab for him, at which point Desmond pulls his big scary robot pants on and steps in the way, forming an impassable wall of high grade titanium alloy as Stark goes around him and heads inside the building.</p><p>It's usually enough to make people recoil, when he steps forward – something about the Iron Man armour just makes people back away post haste. Might be the swords and the knives and the fact that Stark insists he can openly carry firearms. It just makes people wary. This time, though, someone shoves a microphone at his faceplate and shouts, "Iron Man, do you have a statement?" which silences the whole clamouring crowd, as they stop to stare at him.</p><p>It's not what Desmond expected, <em>at all</em>, and so he has nothing better than a "… no comment," to say. For all their preparations, no one had thought to think of something for him to say, because no one expected anyone to ask him anything.</p><p>But now that they have, he's faced with a human wall, shouting questions at him. "Mr. Iron Man, do you have a comment on the current state of Stark Industries public image?", "What is your opinion on the United States Gun control? Do you have a permit to open carry?", "Can you confirm you killed over two dozen people in Afghanistan?", "Iron Man, does Stark Industries plan on producing more your kind?", "Do you think one need have a permit to own a killer robot?", "What's your opinion on the Terminator franchise?", "Iron Man, are you the reason Obadiah Stane fled the country?"</p><p>They look like beggars of Jerusalem and minstrels of San Gimignano, clambering close for coins.</p><p>Yeah, Desmond backs away slowly, before quickly turning to follow Stark inside.</p><p>The next headline proclaims with breathless enthusiasm, "Stark's Iron Man confirmed capable of speech!" which is not what Desmond expected to make the news. Stark has JARVIS, after all – so the fact that he could make a robot that talks shouldn't be so surprising. Should it?</p><p>Most of the articles are full of, "Iron Man chose not to comment on whether his creation will pave the way to our robot overlords," which is kind of fun, though.</p><p>"How dare they," Stark says, offended, reading the supposed robotic experts' analysis on the capabilities of Iron Man. "As if <em>that's</em> the most impressive bit. I create a fully autonomous, walking, <em>fighting</em> robot, and they're all amazed by regular old speech. Well, I'll show them."</p><p>"I," Desmond starts and then sighs, glancing at Yinsen. "I feel like I should be worried."</p><p>"At a guess, you should be," Yinsen agrees, not looking up from his laptop. "Also might I remind you, Mr. Stark, that you didn't actually create an autonomous, walking, fighting robot. You forged a medieval suit of armour."</p><p>Stark gasps as though in real pain. "Yinsen, you wound me," he says and then throws the paper away with disgust. "But you got a point. And I am tired of all this embarrassment, I can't stand to live like this. Come on, let's finish up with the Animus so that I can actually start working on the <em>real</em> Iron Man."</p><p>They're in the midst of setting up the chair when Colonel Rhodes arrives with Pepper, and some news. JARVIS announces them as Yinsen fixes up the new and improved electrodes into a cradle for the new chair's head, and Stark looks up from where he's breaking apart the Animus data core they brought with them from Afghanistan.</p><p>"Well, finally. Show them in, J – did they bring food?"</p><p>"Ms. Potts is carrying a six-pack of coffee and tea," JARVIS assures. "And Colonel Rhodes brought a case of doughnuts."</p><p>"<em>Excellent</em>," Stark says. "Tell them to hurry up, then."</p><p>Desmond, by this point, is not doing much to help – the best he can do is hand tools for Yinsen and Stark when they ask them, and then just sit back and twiddle his thumbs. Even watching them put the Animus together, Desmond doesn't actually understand what they're doing most of the time – Yinsen tries to explain it, but it's just… nah.</p><p>"I suppose you don't have to know how it works to use it," Yinsen muses when Desmond just gave him a helpless look at the sound of words <em>ion currents in the neurons</em> and <em>utilisation of evoked potential</em> and whatnot.</p><p>"You've been reading up, Yinsen," Stark says, amazed. "Nice. Aiming to get a degree in neuroscience?"</p><p>"Just learning what I can, Mr. Stark," Yinsen answers calmly, and then there are people in the stairwell, and Pepper is opening the lock on the glass door, letting her and the Air Force colonel in.</p><p>"Hey, finally, took your sweet time," Stark says, looking up and making grabby hands at Pepper. "Gimme gimme."</p><p>"Tony," the Colonel says while not so casually looking over the workshop, his eyes landing on Desmond. "You've been busy. Hello, Doctor Yinsen."</p><p>"Colonel."</p><p>Stark accepts the paper cup from resigned Pepper. "You know how it goes, do a little of this, do a little of that, and suddenly you're doing everything," he says, taking a quick drink before motioning between Rhodes and Desmond. "Rhodey, Desmond, Desmond, Rhodey."</p><p>"Hi," Desmond offers, and then accepts his coffee from the cup holder. "Thanks, Pepper."</p><p>"And tea for Doctor Yinsen, here you go," Pepper says, handing the cup over with a nod and then turning to Tony and taking the folder she had tucked under her arm. "And I have papers for you to sign, Tony – a lot of papers."</p><p>"Papers can wait – Rhodey's here, can you not see that Rhodey's here –"</p><p>"Rhodey is also a little peeved off," Colonel Rhodes says. "You lied to me, Tony, you lied to my <em>face</em> –"</p><p>"Psh," Stark answers. "I barely obfuscated, and besides, wasn't it you who put it down in your report – before knowing about Desmond – that he was Stark Industries technology and that it was your serious advice that Air Force should not push the matter before Mr. Stark got his patents and designs in order – "</p><p>"You walked out of an Afghan cave with forty-one people <em>killed</em> by your buddy over there, what was I supposed to think –"</p><p>Desmond slouches his shoulders and awkwardly drinks his coffee, while Stark and Rhodes yell at each other about people he'd killed and laws Stark broke in keeping him secret and all the lies therein. Pepper, spotting it, smiles. "Don't worry about it," she says quietly. "They're just letting off steam – it happens and it's usually harmless."</p><p>"Yeah?" Desmond asks and winces as Rhodes points out, again, the forty-one deaths. It probably wouldn't make it any better to point out that all the people he killed were guilty – they all glowed red under Eagle Sense, which means they'd all killed innocents, at one point or another. Yeah, it wouldn't make it any better, Desmond muses, and takes a drink to cover his grimace.</p><p>"Would you like some better news?" Pepper asks, leaning onto the work bench beside him.</p><p>"I don't know what constitutes <em>better news</em> anymore," Desmond admits, and smothers the urge to wince when somewhere his head conjures the sound of clashing swords and clanking armours to go along with Stark's and Rhodes' fight. He looks at the coffee – and is suddenly certain Ezio had had coffee sometime. <em>Shit</em>. Maybe he'll switch to hot chocolate – there was definitely no hot chocolate in the 16th century... </p><p>"We have been approached by Hasbro to begin producing Iron Man toys."</p><p>Desmond blinks and turns to look at her, lowering his cup, reality re-asserting itself back to the present. "I'm sorry, <em>what? </em>Seriously?"</p><p>She smiles a little and shrugs. "They make toys of policemen, of firefighters, of soldiers, fighter jets… why not killer robots?"</p><p>"Oh man, that's… weird. I haven't even done anything, I'm just – standing there, being a bodyguard most of the time."</p><p>"That's already something – and everyone knows you got Tony out of captivity, so they can elaborate," Pepper shrugs. "There have been a lot of military analysts on television, theorising how your break out might've gone down. There's probably going to be a movie about it eventually, you know. So, there's going to be toy branding, too."</p><p>"That's even <em>weirder</em>," Desmond mutters, shaking his head. "Seriously?"</p><p>"Oh yes," Pepper agrees, amused. "I'm going to recommend to Tony we take them up on the offer, too – Hasbro, I mean. It'll be good publicity."</p><p>Desmond doesn't know what is happening in his life anymore, he really doesn't. It's gone from terrible to uncertain to weird to <em>ludicrous</em> in the span of… he's not even sure how long it's been now. None of it makes sense, especially that it's happening to him.</p><p>But watching Stark and Rhodes fence with screwdrivers is pretty entertaining, he supposes, so there's that.</p><p>"I can't believe they lost him. How hard is it to track one damn businessman?" Stark complains later, once they've left the workshop and headed upstairs for dinner. "Obi doesn't exactly blend into the crowd."</p><p>"He had his escape route all set up," Rhodes says, reaching for the bread. "Secret airfield and everything, plane with no records – no one knew anything about it. Must've sunk millions into setting it up. He was up in the air and away before they even went after him, and after that – poof."</p><p>"According to Agent Ross, the plane and the airfield were both set up years ago, and they've been frequently used," Pepper agrees. "He couldn't tell me more because of security reasons, but I got the feeling that Obadiah has been making underhanded international deals for a while, and that's how he managed a lot of them – by using his own secret plane from his own secret little airfield. And he probably bribed a lot of people to keep it secret."</p><p>"Using my money, too," Stark mutters and leans back, putting his utensils down and reaching for a wine glass instead. "Tch. Do we have an estimate of how much of Stark Industries stock he sold under the table?"</p><p>"Not yet, the analysts are still going over the data. But most of it was defunct stock, slated for disposal," Pepper says almost apologetically. "A lot of things that were supposed to be recycled… weren't. But, I can at least confirm that very few of our latest got out – and none of the Jericho, the only batch of the last of the Freedom Line we shipped out was for the demonstration. Your kidnapping put the sales on hold."</p><p>"Well, at least something good came out of it," Stark says, obviously still unhappy. "I do not like that he got away, I don't like it at all."</p><p>"No one does," Rhodes answers. "But people are working on it, and guys like him can't stay in hiding forever. He'll give himself away eventually."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>Desmond and Yinsen are both quiet for most of the dinner, having very little to add to all the corporate business they're not really part of – even if in Yinsen's case it's only a matter of time. The planned medical branch of Stark Industries is on hold for the investigation too, but as soon as the company was cleared of traitors, they'd go forth with it. At least, Desmond thinks that's the plan. He's kind of lost track of things.</p><p>"So," Rhodes says, once they've moved from dinner to deserts and more drinks. "Desmond."</p><p>Desmond looks up from the desert. "Hm?"</p><p>"What's your story?" Rhodes asks. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks to be a pretty interesting one."</p><p>"Er."</p><p>"Rhodey, honeybear, do you <em>have</em> to?" Stark asks, making a face.</p><p>"I think I do, maybe," the Colonel says, lifting his wine glass. "Ten Rings traded his kidnapping for your murder – I want to know why."</p><p>"Ugh, that way lies complete nonsense and bullshit, though," Stark complains, leaning back in his seat and glancing over to Desmond. "You're free to leave the table any moment this gets uncomfortable, you got nothing to prove here. The act of killing a campful of bad guys exonerates you of all wrongdoings."</p><p>"Pretty sure that's not how it works," Desmond says suspiciously.</p><p>"It really isn't," Rhodes agrees. "So, what makes you as valuable as the richest weapons developer in the world?"</p><p>Well that's… what is he supposed to say to that? Because Desmond isn't sure anything does – and what his ancestors did shouldn't be his fault, or his responsibility, just because he has access to their memories. "Um," he says, awkward. "Awkward family relations, I guess?"</p><p>"His ancestors did a thing and the Ten Rings had a genetic memory reading device – it's all nonsense," Stark says. "Especially since that device has the potential to do so much more, and none of it was utilised – it was like someone invented a repulsor and then used it to clean up a museum, it was just a waste – "</p><p>"Tony," Rhodes says. "Could you not deflect for a moment? This is important."</p><p>"Well, you're making my very nice guest feel uncomfortable," Stark says. "And as a host, that just makes me feel awkward, you're making me feel like I'm doing a bad job here. Can you cut it out?"</p><p>"Once he tells me how exactly he killed forty-one people while wearing, what was it, a hundred pounds of metal? Then, sure –"</p><p>"A hundred and fifty, the first armour was heavier –"</p><p>"<em>Tony</em>."</p><p>Desmond looks between them and then puts his spoon down. "I'm an Assassin, I come from a long lineage of Assassins, and I'm… really good at what I do?" he offers. "I think. It was kind of the first time I did something like that. Being bulletproof helped."</p><p>"And the carrying of apparently a <em>hundred and fifty</em> pounds of armour while doing it?" Rhodey asks, thoughtful.</p><p>"I'm told gamma radiation had something to do with that," Desmond says and glances at Stark and Yinsen. "I don't really get it myself, but…"</p><p>"There's gamma radiation now?" Rhodes asks, alarmed.</p><p>"Yeah, the nonsense genetic memory reading device they put Desmond in put off gamma radiation," Stark agrees, shaking his head. "It's how it reads genetic memory in the first place – we figured it had some <em>effect</em> on Desmond by the time we noticed that he was burning his way through some six thousand calories a day by doing nothing but lying there. Which, we're still figuring it out."</p><p>"Wait, so – let me see if I got this right," Rhodes says, setting his glass down. "Ten Rings kidnapped Desmond to put him into this genetic memory reader, and it put off gamma radiation because of… assassin lineage?"</p><p>Stark sighs and scratches at his beard thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe we should explain the whole thing from the beginning."</p><p>The explanation takes a while, and somehow it sounds even more ridiculous, when it's being explained after the fact – enough so that Desmond has to actually wonder if it all really happened. It really does sound like nonsense, doesn't it, the Animus, genetic memory, ancestors – and that's without even getting into the Pieces of Eden… geez.</p><p>"Okay," Rhodes says, frowning. "And doing these Animus deep dives, that gave Desmond skills and physical fitness. Okay, yeah, that makes total sense. Except that <em>it doesn't.</em>"</p><p>"I hear you," Stark sighs. "We're rebuilding the thing now, though, except <em>better</em>, so hopefully we will get answers soon. I'm more interested in the brain interface thing, because I have so many applications for that, but I suppose the gamma radiation thing is mildly interesting too."</p><p>"Any guess as to why it worked like… that?" Rhodes asks, motioning at Desmond, who tries not to take it personally. "As opposed to, you know… killing him, the way gamma radiation <em>usually</em> does with most people."</p><p>"I have a theory about it," Yinsen says calmly, sipping his wine. "I suspect it's a genetic disposition Desmond has. I've been reading up on gamma ray research, including the papers written by Doctor Banner before his unfortunate accident, along with most of everything I could find online concerning the Project Rebirth – the Vita-rays used in the creation of Captain America were in reality gamma rays, weren't they?"</p><p>"Mmhmm, they were," Stark says, folding his hand. "The guy was bombarded with them on all sides during the whole transformation into a super soldier thing. It's a damn wonder they didn't just <em>fry</em> him."</p><p>"Yes, well. Gamma radiation has been tested in similar situations countless times since the forties, and Doctor Banner, while among the more <em>successful</em> fallouts, isn't the only fallout there has been," Yinsen says and looks at Desmond. "I have a theory that how gamma radiation affects you has a great deal to do with your latent genetic potential. It might be that you simply have a predisposition for… strength. It likely has to do with your ancestry, and the way the Animus went about activating those parts of your genome."</p><p>"So, by reliving the lives of Assassins I didn't just take up their knowledge and skills, but their… their actual physical strength too?" Desmond asks thoughtfully.</p><p>"What you do with your body affects your DNA," Yinsen shrugs. "Epigenetics. It might be that the Animus activates the epigenetic information of your ancestors within you, and therefore… you get some of their physical state as well. Which the gamma radiation then enforces."</p><p>"So, he's as strong as… three-ish men?" Stark asks, humming.</p><p>"It's only a theory. We would need a full analysis of his changing physiology, his DNA, and epigenetic information to confirm it," Yinsen says and shrugs.</p><p>Desmond hums, considering it. Yeah, he likes this theory better than the idea that the Animus was just randomly mutating him. Still a bit freaky, but… freaky in a way he can handle. "And the – the mental thing?"</p><p>"Ezio's – and Altair's – brain physiology imposed over yours," Yinsen says, sympathetic. "Hopefully, we will figure out a way to make it easier for you."</p><p>"Okay," Rhodes says, running a hand over his face. "Damn, alright. All that aside, Desmond's gonna continue being the Iron Man, then? You already made a new armour for him, Tony, so I assume this is a thing that is going to happen. What are you going to do when people realise it's just a guy in a suit of armour?"</p><p>"Oh, they're not going to find out," Stark says, shrugging. "I'm going to make sure of it."</p><p>"Tony, they want you to produce Iron Men Soldiers," Rhodes points out slowly.</p><p>"Well, they're doomed to be disappointed, aren't they?" Stark asks and looks over to Desmond and smiles. "Stark Industries is going to end its weapons development, and this one… I'm keeping this one with me."</p><p>And now Desmond misses the faceplate. At least with it on, people couldn't see him blush at Stark's goddamn insinuations. Sighing and shaking his head, Desmond turns back to his – chocolate mousse whipped cream, completely and decadently modern – dessert and wonders when, if ever, his life is going back to normal.</p><p>His bet is on <em>never</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With most of his Board of Directors either under a semi-house arrest, under guard or on some kind of government watch list, Tony does what he does best. Ignores all of them, and gets some actual work done.</p><p>They finish the Animus in a few days – even with the improvements Tony throws into the mix, it's not exactly nuclear science, making a chair and putting up some electrodes on it. The programming he finishes within the day, including a backdoor into the user's brain, which lets them actually <em>see</em> what Desmond is seeing within the Animus – and which makes Tony want to find a pillow to scream into at the sheer waste of the technology. It's not even just brain interface anymore, now it's <em>brain projection</em>. Literal, perfectly rendered, 3d visual brain projection. Stay still, his poor beating wounded heart.</p><p>Of course then it turns out that the actual <em>DNA reading</em> aspect of the Animus doesn't work without the gamma radiation. The technology that goes into making that work is so clever and so weird that Tony has no idea how anyone could've come up with it, but there it is – it's a whole messed up self-sustaining system. The gamma radiation made the DNA readable, sending it into the Animus, which then sent it into Desmond's head to be read by his brain – that part of the process happened in the guy's neurons, the device itself couldn't make heads or tails of the genetic memory, it was just a conduit. Then the Animus read the electrical signals of Desmond's brain, and sent them back to his body, where the gamma radiation made them happen. As far as Desmond's physique was concerned, what happened in the Animus, happened in real life… granted, only on a cellular level.</p><p>"Well, I know that if I die in the Animus I don't die in real life – because I've died in the Animus a whole bunch of times," Desmond muses.</p><p>"That's – I don't even know where to start with that," Tony admits, giving him a wary look. "Jesus Christ, Desmond."</p><p>"Hm? Oh, it doesn't feel real when I die in the Animus," Desmond assures him, soothingly,. "I just get kind of thrown out of the memory and into the load up space until I find the previous memory and, uh, reconnect with Ezio? So it doesn't feel like dying. But yeah, it's happened a lot."</p><p>"A desynchronisation, perhaps?" JARVIS muses.</p><p>"I suppose," Desmond says. "Anyway, you can now see what I see – how does that work?"</p><p>"It's not that complicated, really – I'm just hijacking the signal a bit, between you and the Animus," Tony says, motioning to the screens they'd set up in a semicircle around the animus – which would give them about 210 degree view into what Desmond would be seeing. It isn't perfect, but Tony doesn't have the time or the interest of updating hologram tech to the point of creating the guy a fully immersive hologram environment, when it's not even needed. "It wasn't even hard – I think the Animus might've been designed with the potential in mind."</p><p>"I believe it was," Yinsen agrees, adjusting the electrodes. "In the Abstergo files there were references to feedback and visuals, but Ten Rings could never figure out how to manage it – nor did Raza choose to pursue it with any true interest. They figured the Animus was more secure that way."</p><p>"Good thing for us," Desmond says. "They would've seen the map, if they had."</p><p>"Yes, the map," Tony hums. "Do you think you could show it to us?"</p><p>Desmond runs a hand over his neck, thinking about it. "Yeah, okay," he says. "Dunno if it will actually any use, it's not exactly detailed, but sure. Right now?"</p><p>"No better time than the present," Tony says. "And I need to see if the hijacking works." And once they knew what they were working with, they could start fixing things for Desmond. They'd all heard the nightmares. They all have some, of course – but only Desmond cries out in Italian in the night.</p><p>Desmond nods and gets into the Animus, and Yinsen starts it up. Watching Desmond go all lax, as though in sleep, with all the lights of the workshop doing nothing to hide how unnatural it is, it's… well. It is. Tony looks between him and the screens, and then sits back to monitor the code.</p><p>Desmond gets the map out, but then there's an – issue. Tony and Yinsen see a glimpse of a place, a garden of some kind, with a castle behind it – around it? There's a body of an old man on the ground, and a man in white robes and hood over it – and then there's an honest to god <em>hologram</em> being produced by a glowing magic eight ball on the floor, and – then the image begins to flicker and break.</p><p>The Animus ejects Desmond, and he comes to, clutching his head and groaning in pain, startling Yinsen and making Tony almost jump.</p><p>Desynchronisation, as they decide to call it. Currently Desmond's brain is more attuned to Ezio Auditore, and going back to Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad apparently causes some issues with mismatched brain activity, or whatever. Then there's also the elephant in the room – the insanity elephant. Just one dip into old Alty's mind, and Desmond has hallucinations for most of the day.</p><p>"I was – I was handling it. It wasn't that bad, really," Desmond tries to say later, while staring fixedly at the back patio, and obviously not <em>seeing</em> the back patio. "I – it was the worst when I switched between Altaïr and Ezio, I think. I guess it was my brain, adjusting?"</p><p>"Could be," Yinsen agrees while taking his blood pressure. "Hmm. Your heartbeat is a little high – do you feel lightheaded?"</p><p>"Yinsen, I'm seeing <em>Masyaf</em> outside of the window. I feel a little lightheaded, yeah."</p><p>So, they decide that while Tony's Animus is way cooler than the one in the Ten Rings cave… they wouldn't be actually using it for it's designed purpose just yet, not until Yinsen read up some more on the Animus and figured out a way to mitigate the damage. There's nothing <em>that</em> important in Desmond's ancestry that they need. You know. Godly visions aside, because apparently Ezzy had some godly visions, which Desmond wanted to show them.</p><p>"Are the godly visions <em>time-sensitive</em>?" Tony asks dubiously. He'd be a little more concerned over his own mental state – hell, just worrying about Desmond's mental state is giving him grey hairs and stress. "He saw them five hundred years ago, how urgent can they be?"</p><p>"Um," Desmond hums, frowning. "I don't know? I think Minerva said something about there being time now, but – she was talking to me."</p><p>"Years – well, in that case, it can wait until the thing doesn't drive you up the walls, <em>again</em>," Tony says, patting his shoulder. "Give me and Yinsen time to perfect the damn thing, okay? You're going to pilot Iron Man, the perquisite of which is a relatively stable mental state. Okay?"</p><p>"Yeah, okay," Desmond says, sighing. "So, I'm just… at loose ends again, huh?"</p><p>"I can get you a jungle gym if you're bored," Tony snorts.</p><p>Desmond actually perks up at that, so, yeah. Tony gets him a jungle gym – or rather he designs one, has JARVIS fabricate it and then lets Desmond figure out how to install it on the back patio. From the looks of it, it's going to keep the guy entertained for several weeks, which gives Tony the time he needs to <em>finally</em> work on his Mark I designs and fix them up. Whenever he isn't being distracted by the sight of Desmond doing damn <em>flips</em> on the thing. Because. Damn.</p><p>"Right, okay, back to work," Tony says and resolutely closes the patio feed. "The next armour, Mark – actually, I wonder if it would be Mark IV, technically. Mark I was never built, Mark II was the missile armour Desmond got us out in, and the armour he has now is technically third one, soo…"</p><p>"Is the distinction important, sir?" JARVIS comments.</p><p>"Keeping a clear technological lineage here is vital, JARVIS, you should know better than even to ask," Tony says and hums while opening the scanned designs for Mark I and bringing them up on his hologram design table. "We should always remember our roots. Engrave Mark III on the armour currently in use, will you, J? And, uh..." he glances at the glass doors. "Remember how I asked you to keep an eye on Yinsen? Keep one on Desmond too, okay?"</p><p>"As you wish, sir."</p><p>And then begins what would be the several months of work to perfect Iron Man beyond the meagre capacities of men.</p>
<hr/><p>"So far we've ruled out about 25% of your Board of Directors – their records come up clean, they had nothing to do with it," Sosa says, while spreading papers all over the conference room table. "They're also mostly absent on Board Meetings and are the most likely to vote with the majority, so it's probably that Mr. Stane never needed to persuade them to his side."</p><p>"So they're doormats," Tony muses, disappointed, and ignores the way Pepper obviously wants to elbow him.</p><p>"Mrs. Hawthorne put up her Stark Industries shares on sale," Rojas continues. "So likely she is involved – but it could also be that she's simply reacting to potential threat to her assets and trying to liquidate her shares before they lose value. Either way, she's under investigation."</p><p>"Next, we have Mr. Devin," Vasilev says. "We found some emails pointing to him, and the FBI got a search warrant for his house and found him trying to burn documents – so he's been taken under arrest…"</p><p>The whole meeting is overall kind of depressing. At the end of it Tony finds out that the majority of the Board of Directors at Stark Industries were either just siding with Obadiah as the strongest personality and voice on the board… or they were involved in the dealing to the terrorists under the table. It also turned out that Ten Rings weren't the only terrorist organisation Obadiah dealt to.</p><p>"At a guess, he's made profits in the hundreds of millions," Rojas concludes. "All on offshore accounts we can't trace or even find – everything stateside we can backtrack to him has been frozen, but whatever assets he has abroad…"</p><p>Tony rubs a hand over his face. Obi on the run had been an amazingly amusing mental picture, until this point. Obi pushed into a corner was bad enough – but to know he has resources like these, never mind ties to just about every major terrorist organisation out there? "Why terrorist organisations?" he mutters. "Government contracts pay better – just find a, I don't know, war lord or two and sell to them?"</p><p>"Increased terrorist activity demands retaliation – which boosts Stark Industries sales stateside," Rojas says. "That's the impression we got from his emails, anyway – the target goal was to get the United States into a proper war, and profit off the ensuing sales."</p><p>Tony sighs. The business has always been ugly, he's never been blind to it – ever since they started dealing heavier and heavier on the weapons manufacture side of things, they'd been profiting off war and death. His title of the Merchant of Death wasn't without merit – he's read the articles that tried to calculate the number of people killed by his inventions, and the statistics didn't end in tens of thousands.</p><p>But this…</p><p>Tony turns his chair as the discussion moves onto Stane's ownership of Stark Industries shares and how that affects the future proceedings. Desmond is standing behind his chair, impeccable in his newly painted Mark III armour – it's mostly white now, with a little bit of chrome thrown in, a cliché robot look, and Tony doesn't like it one bit. It looks the part, but for now the part looks boring. Kind of like a household appliance. Ugh. He would definitely need to change that.</p><p>Desmond turns the faceplate downwards to look at him as Tony lounges back on the chair, watching him. He doesn't say anything – never does in the armour unless spoken to first. Playing the part of a robot.</p><p>God, but Tony wants to be done with this messy part of it all. It's kind of an ugly testament to how he ran the company before, though, isn't it. Tony played the part of a CEO, signed the papers, but it was Obadiah who did most of the nitpicky stuff – the boring stuff, as Tony thought of it. Tony was just the face and the power, more often than not sticking to his workshop and only coming out to party, while Obi handled all the deals.</p><p>So in that way, he's not innocent in this. He'd been complacent.</p><p>Standing up, while Pepper and the analysts continue talking, Tony steps up to Desmond and considers the armour, already planning the improvements that would go into the Mark IV. No faulds, for one – for proper aerial mobility, they have to go.</p><p>"Are we boring you, Stark?" Rojas asks, irritated.</p><p>"Corporate jargon always bores me," Tony says and sighs, running a hand down the chest plate. The arc reactor would go there, he decides, right in the middle of the chest plate. Let the whole world see it and marvel. "Just give me the bottom line here?"</p><p>"Bottom line is that at least half of your board of directors is going to come up on criminal charges," Vasilev says plainly. "You're looking at a loss of approximately 730 million dollars worth in stolen merchandise sold under the table. And you're probably going to be sued by many people in the upcoming years. Also, your company shares are going to plummet, unless you do something fast."</p><p>"Great, just what I want to hear," Tony says and smiles at Desmond, wondering what his expression must be. He's been standing still and silent all meeting, not making a peep. Gotta admire that kind of resolution. Then Tony turns to look at Pepper. "What can we do about the shares Obi owns?"</p><p>"They're not really an issue as of now – his assets in the US are frozen, including whatever stock he owns," Pepper says. "He can't sell them, can't profit from them, and can't use them to throw his weight around. They're as good as nonexistent."</p><p>"Good," Tony says and pats Desmond's chest. "And are we able to dig ourselves out of this hole?"</p><p>It's not really the analyst's job to offer him business advice here, they're here as neutral parties – but Rojas answers him anyway. "Stick to your guns, Stark," she says. "The worst thing you can do now is backpedal."</p><p>Well, Tony knew that already. "Right," Tony says, turning back to the table. "Okay, what other depressing news do you have for me?"</p>
<hr/><p>Aside from the corporate drama, things are mostly quiet. The media eventually grows bored with the Stark Industries internal investigation, and while Iron Man sightings still make the news, it too eventually becomes <em>old news</em>. Tony tries to not take that one personally, because Iron Man is awesome, but that's just how it goes – when it stops selling papers, the media stops putting it on them. Though the lack of interest might also be the fact that Tony hasn't given an interview in, oh, two months now? That without counting the time spent kidnapped.</p><p>Either way, it's quiet. Metaphorically speaking.</p><p>JARVIS is blasting him with Technologic, when he finishes the rocket boots. Tony probably should've called the others in, but Yinsen is having tea on the patio, and he's looking like he's having a good day, and Desmond's fallen asleep in a sun chair with a book over his face and Tony just doesn't have the heart to bother them. So he tests the boots himself.</p><p>They throw him into a wall, which makes loud enough sound that both Yinsen and Desmond hear it, through the several layers of concrete.</p><p>"You absolute <em>madman</em> – why didn't you call us?" Desmond says, picking him up from the floor while Yinsen takes his pulse and aims a penlight in his eyes.</p><p>"Just – a small test, slight – calibration error, obviously the boots need some kind of flight stabilisers – Yinsen, you're blinding me here, come on –"</p><p>He's deemed mostly alright, slightly concussed, and Desmond makes him swear not to test things himself. He makes JARVIS promise to alert him the next time, which JARVIS does with, "It would be my pleasure to keep you informed, Mr. Miles," which is just a betrayal, plain and simple.</p><p>"It wasn't even that big of a fall," Tony complains. "Barely a tumble."</p><p>"Of course, Mr. Stark, it wasn't a big deal at all," Yinsen says and hands him a bag of ice. "For the bump in your head, before it grows into the size of a golf ball."</p><p>Tony gives him a look, but accepts the ice.</p><p>It's another week for the flight stabilisers, and this time it's Desmond who tests them, because that's safer, sure – and okay, <em>maybe</em> that makes Tony take slightly more care with the calibration, starting at a much lower energy input than he would've bothered with himself, but… still. They're seriously trusting the guy with a mental condition over the actual inventor. Tony is feeling a bit <em>disrespected</em>. </p><p>"If something goes wrong, and these things send you through a wall, who is going to fix it?" Yinsen asks. "Besides, if you get yourself killed in a workshop accident, what's going to happen to us, then? Take some responsibility, Mr. Stark."</p><p>"That's just playing dirty, that is," Tony mutters.</p><p>Desmond has been handling the awareness issues like a champ, granted, the incident with the Animus aside, and they never seem to bother him when action is happening – Tony would know, he and JARVIS made graphs and viewed a lot of footage. A <em>lot </em>of footage.</p><p>Tony also might have a clip show of Desmond's Best Hits with the jungle gym, because damn the guy is <em>nimble… </em>but that's just between him and JARVIS.</p><p>"So, the idea is that boots offer thrust forward, and with your palms you control the direction," Tony says, while hooking Desmond up with a harness for an arc reactor – since Desmond doesn't come with a built-in one – and snapping the casing for the flight stabiliser. "Keep your fingers away from it, or it will burn your fingertips off."</p><p>"Yes, this seems very safe," Desmond muses, watching as Tony snaps all the locks in place. "Okay, so, how do I activate it?"</p><p>"JARVIS initialises it and controls the overall power output, and you control the thrusters output with your finger movements – spread out your fingers as far as they go? Excellent – JARVIS, log that as the max setting. Now, curl them in, not that much, a little bit more – there, that's the min setting. So, JARVIS gives you power by degrees, and you have control within the degree – does that make sense?"</p><p>"Yeah, I think I got it," Desmond agrees, and lifts his arm as Tony finishes strapping him in. "Okay, which way am I aiming this thing? Down?"</p><p>"Away from the computers, please – over there," Tony says and points him to the garage.</p><p>Desmond hesitates. "Um," he says. "You sure I want to test your spiffy new repulsor near your really expensive cars?"</p><p>Tony looks between him and then the cars, and – yeah, okay. "Yeah, let's get them out first, shall we?"</p><p>With the cars taken out of the garage, they set up to test, with Dummy holding a fire extinguisher and You filming the whole thing. Yinsen stands back, arms folded and medical kit at the ready.</p><p>"Be sure to catch my good side," Desmond says to You, winking, and aims the repulsor towards the garage door.</p><p>"Okay, JARVIS," Tony says, shaking his head and stepping back. "Bring it up to the lowest setting, okay? Desmond, ready? Three, two, one – activate the repulsor."</p><p>The blast of the repulsor coming to life is intensely satisfying. It doesn't quite knock Desmond off his feet, but it definitely pushes him back and makes him check his footing before he figures out how to push against it. The speed with which he figures out the power control is frankly a little impressive – it takes Desmond less than a minute before he's leaning forward against the repulsor at a pretty steep angle, and it's keeping him upright.</p><p>"Damn," Desmond says, the repulsor-free hand braced against the back of the repulsor-adorned one as he slowly turns the repulsor at the floor and pushes against its thrust. "That's a – that's way stronger than I realised it would be. That's – wow. Can you bring it up a bit?"</p><p>"Increase output to the next highest?" Tony asks JARVIS, and soon Desmond is doing a push up, nearly his whole weight on the repulsor now, his body at the 40 degree angle . It's – not what Tony would've done with the thing, but – <em>yeah.</em></p><p>Damn if the sight of Desmond doing push ups with his tech doesn't do things for Tony. Because it seriously does.</p><p>So, that's a… success. Yay.</p><p>A day from that, Tony has the bare bones of the flight system rigged up – boots, two flight stabilisers, all set up in a harness for Desmond to wear. With the cars out again, Desmond flexes the repulsors and tests the weight of the boots, humming – and then he flies. Not much, at first, just a few inches up to figure out the force and the stabilisers. Then a few inches more. Then a foot.</p><p>"Okay, I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you," Desmond says, his eyes shining and a grin on his face, as he comes down again with a heavy metallic thud, easing the power down. "I'm – I'm fucking <em>flying</em>. Holy <em>shit</em>, Stark."</p><p>"You've thought bad things about me?" Tony asks, his mind screeching to a halt from where he'd been trying to calculate the output versus the weight of the planned armour and wonder how fast he could get Desmond to go.</p><p>Desmond glances up at him, and Tony can't tell if it's the flush of excitement or what, but he looks incandescent as he stands there, with millions dollars worth of Tony's <em>brain child</em> wrapped around all of him. "Oh, yeah," he says and clears his throat. "And I am sorry. Nice thoughts from here on out, I promise. Seriously, Stark, this is <em>so cool</em>. So, what's the plan next – the armour?"</p><p>There's a gleam of perspiration on Desmond's neck, and Tony's heart skips a beat. "No, no, go back to the bad thoughts," he says, his feet making their way towards Desmond without his say so. "I want to hear about the bad thoughts – were they <em>good</em> bad thoughts?"</p><p>"Er," Desmond answers, his eyes widening, and Tony realises he <em>might've</em> just sashayed, just a little bit. "Well. Uhh."</p><p>Behind them, Yinsen rolls his eyes, packs up his things, and leaves them to it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>How the time flies. One more chapter to go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So. Sex with Tony Stark. Desmond is somehow in a sort of place in his life where sex with Tony Stark is on the table. He… honestly has no idea what to do with that.</p><p>Like, on one hand… it's not like he hadn't thought about it? Stark doesn't exactly shy away from making suggestive remarks, and since they got out of the captivity the guy had cleaned up real nice, and also there's the whole protection detail confusion going on – Stark protecting his identity, him protecting Stark's life, there's just a lot of protection happening, and that just makes a heart grow fonder, right? Mutual good things happening. So, Desmond <em>had</em> thought about it.</p><p>But it's also a thing he doesn't… really think… It's not something that happens to a guy like Desmond, not outside the really sappy rom-coms, anyway. The whole thing makes him feel a bit like that chick in that movie, what was its name – the Pretty Woman one. Just something taken off the street, brushed up and prettied up and – and put into a really expensive high-tech suit of armour, which works weirdly well with the Pretty Woman metaphor, actually. If the titular pretty woman was also an assassin.</p><p>Anyway. It makes it a little bit difficult to trust the whole thing. Not the sincerity of it, because Stark is pretty damn sincere about what he wants. But after that, after they've had sex, then… what? What happens then?</p><p>"More sex?" Stark offers.</p><p>"Yeah, okay," Desmond says, sighing. "Not what I meant, and you know it, but – point, I guess."</p><p>"Why does it have to be difficult?" Stark asks, rubbing a hand not so subtly up and down Desmond's arm. "Why not just have at it and see where it leads?"</p><p>"Oh, let me think – because my current way of life is already completely dependent on you, this whole Iron Man thing looks like it might be semi-permanent, and if it goes badly and we end up hating each other, I'm gonna be screwed? I mean," Desmond gives the guy a look. "Also there's the Bleeding Effect. Talk about power imbalance here. I'm basically a sugar baby, aren't I?"</p><p>"The whole Super Assassin Iron Man notwithstanding, which the Bleeding Effect made happen," Stark says, wryly. "You know, the awkward bit of ageism aside, I bet I make a great sugar daddy."</p><p>Desmond gives him a flat look.</p><p>"Oh, come on," Stark says. "We're basically partnering up on the Iron Man thing, here. I'm building it, but you are – it. You are Iron Man. It's an equal opportunity partnership. Granted, I am putting way more into it, what with the millions of dollars of technology and building and my time, which by the way, isn't cheap either, but anyway – your contribution isn't nonexistent here."</p><p>"Yeah, as if you couldn't get any number of probably thousand proper pilots out there to pull the gig off. Just throw a bit of money their way and – "</p><p>"Okay, now I am actually a little insulted," Stark says and gives him a frown. "Also, any number of a thousand proper pilots couldn't have and <em>didn't</em> save me from a cave in Afghanistan. You saved my life, both our lives. Think of that?"</p><p>Desmond sighs and leans back on the couch – and Stark takes it as an opportunity to pour him more wine. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" Desmond asks suspiciously.</p><p>"Yes," Stark says, and pours for himself too. "And myself. Feelings. Ugh," he gives a theatrical shudder and then takes a drink. "You wouldn't be – screwed, that is. I wouldn't just toss you out. I'd take care of you, if you wanted to leave, I'd… set you up alright. Wherever you want to go, I'd buy a house, get you a new ID, whatever you want. You'd be fine."</p><p>Snorting slightly at that, Desmond looks at the wine glass and then out to the patio, to the damn jungle gym. "Really brings home the equality of our partnership," he comments and takes a drink, wondering if Stark would let him have the Animus too.</p><p>"Okay, so, it isn't, and I'm sorry, but I can't just stop being what I am," Stark says and shrugs, giving him a look. "And you <em>want </em>some of this, otherwise it wouldn't even be an issue. You'd just turn me down, and that'd be it. And don't think I haven't noticed you <em>not</em> turning this down."</p><p>Desmond looks away from the jungle gym and at Stark, who's watching him, half leaning over him. The lights of the living room have been pitched low, and there's quiet music playing in the background – not Stark's usual ear-splitting rock, but something more jazzy that Desmond can't place. It's nice, and ridiculously romantic. It has a flair of a <em>setting</em>, and Desmond can just imagine there's some switch Stark has to turn the whole mansion into <em>seduction</em> mode. If that's the case, then… poor JARVIS for having to manage it.</p><p>Stark has an oil stain on his cheek, and his hair is a little greasy because he'd forgotten to shower. But he also looks like himself – like nothing but himself. Even Leonardo doesn't compare – Desmond has never once looked at Stark and seen someone else. The guy smells like smoke and metal and futuristic technology, and he's looking at Desmond like there's nothing in the world that matters more. It's ridiculous.</p><p>Desmond kind of wants to kiss him.</p><p>"I'm kinda worried this will mean a lot more to me than it will to you," Desmond admits. "And I'm the one who's gonna get their ass kicked by this."</p><p>Stark hesitates at that, leaning back a little. "Well," he says. "Shit."</p><p>"Yeah," Desmond agrees, and reaches to put his wine glass away.</p><p>"I think that's a bit rude," Stark says after a moment. "Like, between the lines, you're calling me a player here. Which I think I am going to have to take personally – I haven't gone out <em>once</em> since Afghanistan, and even before that it was just one-night-stands, and besides –"</p><p>Desmond reaches to take him by the chin and kiss him. It's kind of lopsided and scratchy, and Stark needs to trim his beard, seriously.</p><p>"Okay," the man mumbles against his lips. "Some… mixed signals there, um."</p><p>"Just so you're aware of what you're getting into," Desmond says, brushing his thumb through the bristles of Stark's beard, smiling wryly, his heart beating like a drum in his ears. "You know I'm a bit insane, right?"</p><p>"Well, we're working on it," Stark says and then licks his lips and then tries for a joke. "You're not going to like… kill me if this goes badly? Because it just dawned on me that – as an Assassin who lives in my house, you could probably do that before everyone even knew and – "</p><p>"No," Desmond says with a laugh. "But I'm going to be really, really sad, and I'm going to make sure you know it's all your fault."</p><p>Stark considers that for a moment, "Guess I better take good care of you, then," he says, his voice pitching low, and puts his glass away too.</p><p>And oh, hey, he could give Ezio a run for his money, Desmond thinks, before Stark takes his head gently between his calloused hands and leans in, and Desmond very firmly pushes Ezio out of his mind. And yeah.</p><p>Tony Stark can <em>kiss</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>"Are you judging me?" Desmond asks.</p><p>Yinsen doesn't even look up from the paper he's reading. "A little," he admits easily</p><p>"For – what exactly?"</p><p>Yinsen smiles at that, but still doesn't look up, and with a sigh Desmond turns to look at the ocean. It's another beautiful day in Malibu. They're pretty much all of them beautiful days here – the whole time they've been there, there's been like one day that wasn't sunny, and even that ended up in a glorious sunset. The place is almost too perfect – but that's what you get, when you're a billionaire, you park your million dollar mansion in the best place you can.</p><p>Desmond sighs, leaning onto the baluster separating the patio from the rocky cliffs beyond and leans to look over it. It's a … good drop down from there, into not very welcoming waves. There's a beach nearby – there's even a nice footpath leading to the beach, but the mansion itself is built on some rocky ass cliffs. Fall over the edge, and they'd scratch you to hell and back before you hit the water.</p><p>"I know it's a bad idea," Desmond mutters, leaning his chin onto his folded arms. "Shouldn't have done it."</p><p>It was so good though. Like, so much better than he thought. Like, <em>Jesus</em>, it was <em>so good</em>. He hadn't Bled once all night, it was that good.</p><p>He can feel Yinsen watching him. "You are infatuated with him," Yinsen comments.</p><p>Desmond doesn't answer, just closes his eyes and wishes he had Ezio's knack with these things. Ezio was all <em>love 'em and leave 'em,</em> and it never seemed to bother him, Desmond never could manage that. And apparently even though he has some of Ezio's memories, he <em>still</em> can't manage that.</p><p>"Is that so terrible?"</p><p>Okay, that's not… Desmond opens his eyes and turns to look at Yinsen. "I think you're supposed to be telling me <em>it is</em> terrible."</p><p>"Why?" Yinsen asks, arching his brows. "Because you have a crush on a man 17 years your senior who wields not an inconsiderable amount of power over you, is in charge of all your living expenses, your comfort, your very safety and security, and who is currently building you a suit of armour so that you may continue the subterfuge of being a <em>thing</em> he built, a machine he designed? Never mind the fact that you have a mental condition, you have killed for him, and are expected to <em>protect him</em>, with your life, if necessary –"</p><p>"Okay, Christ, Yinsen, tell me what you <em>really think</em>," Desmond says, wincing at every word. "I know, okay? I know."</p><p>Yinsen hums, amused. "From what I have learned of Mr. Stark's world, that's not a rare position for the kept men and women of the rich and famous – "</p><p>"Yinsen, <em>please</em>."</p><p>The man actually laughs at him before turning his eyes back to the paper, turning a page. They're quiet for a moment while Desmond buries his head in his arms and smothers the urge to groan. </p><p>Well, it's helping him keep his mind in the present. Ezio never felt this conflicted over any of his trysts.</p><p>"Do you regret it?" Yinsen asks quietly. "Think it was a mistake?"</p><p>"No, not really," Desmond sighs. "Just… it's gonna end up in a disaster, isn't it?"</p><p>"Hmm. Mr. Stark seems to have precious few people he trusts, I've found," Yinsen comments. "We talked about it, back in the Ten Rings' keeping – whether he had anyone waiting for him, back home. He did not. A man with everything and nothing. What does that make you, in his life?"</p><p>"Spare me."</p><p>"You know all of his secrets," Yinsen continues. "You've seen him at his most vulnerable. And you watched him build himself up. Now he's quite literally turning all he's ever worked throughout all his life around, and in the centre of it all there is <em>you</em>, in the Iron Man armour. His currently best kept secret, the ace up his sleeve – the trick in his corner."</p><p>Desmond frowns at that, lifting his chin and leaning it onto his arms. "Not sure that's it," he murmurs.</p><p>"It might be a rather optimistic look on things, but it's still a valid one," Yinsen says. "You keep saying you feel at loose ends – but at the same time, you represent Mr. Stark's control over his life, you are a literal embodiment of his ability to change. With you at his side, none can touch him."</p><p>"That's… a bit fucked up, when you put it like that."</p><p>"Well, we went through kidnapping in the hands of terrorists," Yinsen comments. "What's a few messed up coping mechanisms to all that? Besides, it's not as if you yourself aren't employing some. After all – you're still here."</p><p>"Yeah, mooching off Stark's –"</p><p>"What could he do, if you decided to walk out?" Yinsen asks flatly. "Put someone else in the armour, really?"</p><p>Well… yeah. The guy totally would. Hell, the moment Rhodes had heard what Stark had planned for the future of Iron Man armours, the guy had <em>want</em> written all over him. There have to be so many guys out there – gals too – who could be loyal and secretive and <em>thrilled</em> to put on the armour for Stark.</p><p>"<em>Really</em>, Desmond," Yinsen says.</p><p>"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Desmond asks, a little belligerent and mostly confused. "I thought you were judging me."</p><p>"I am," Yinsen says and glances up from the paper. "Stark came to me this morning for medical aid. Your nightly activities put some strain on the reactor mount, and he was <em>bleeding</em>. I am judging you <em>severely</em> for that."</p><p>Desmond can feel his ears heat up. "Um. That was all him, he's the one –"</p><p>"I don't want to hear it – I want you to be more careful. And I told him as much," Yinsen says, giving him a flat, amused look. "I am judging him for a number of things as well. That aside though – I think you might be chalking the relationship up for a failure a little too soon. Sure, it might end up in a disaster. But then, most relationships do, and you might get killed within the month, standing in Stark's defence as Iron Man. What's a life without risk?"</p><p>Giving the man a wary, suspicious look, Desmond pushes away from the baluster, turning around. "I think you're supposed to be talking me into my senses or something, not telling me to – have a go at it."</p><p>Yinsen looks at him steadily and lowers the papers he's holding. "Why – are you looking for an excuse to end it? You're a little late in turning him down, you realise."</p><p>"No, that's –" Desmond starts to say and then blows out a frustrated breath. "I don't – I don't know. It's just that…" His shoulders slump, and Yinsen says nothing to make it any easier. "I mean – it… it can't last, right? I'm not – not <em>like him</em>, so…"</p><p>The look Yinsen is giving him is arched and unimpressed, and he actually sets the papers he's holding down to look at him. "I'm not sure there are people like Mr. Stark – but I suppose you don't mean his intelligence. Or, at least, that's not all of it. Don't tell me you mean the money."</p><p>Well. Desmond looks away awkwardly and then shrugs. "Stark could have probably <em>anyone</em>," he mutters. "Supermodels, actors, whatever. And I'm just –" he stops at the look Yinsen is giving him. "Aside from this Iron Man thing, what do I have to offer, really?"</p><p>Yinsen sighs, shaking his head a little. "<em>Yourself</em>. And if that's not enough for Stark, then – you're entirely right, you should call it off."</p><p>Desmond flinches a little at that. "That's not –" he starts and then stops, not sure which side he'd be arguing. It rings wrong to him, anyway, but – "Um."</p><p>"Then what is it?" Yinsen asks, with the air of exasperated patience. "You feel guilty for not bringing as many resources into the potential relationship? As though money or influence, fame, fortune – a billion dollar company – matters in a relationship."</p><p>"… Shouldn't they?" Desmond asks, wincing. "I mean – you know how it'd look like from the outside perspective, right? I got not a single dime to my name, and he's – he's paying for <em>everything</em> I have. At this point I'm not even digging for gold anymore, I'm going for the fucking family jewels. Literally, as it happens."</p><p>Yinsen just looks at him for a long time. "Well," he says and leans back with a shake of his head. "I would take this opportunity to point out that only a handful of people know you even exist, and thus worrying about their opinions is something of a moot point… but I see that's not the issue here," he says and runs a hand over his chin, thinking. "I think you are giving yourself far too little credit. Ask yourself – how much all of this," he motions around them, at the patio, the pool, the juiced up jungle gym, the mansion, "really matters to you – or to <em>him</em>, in the grand scheme of things. Take it all away – and what changes?"</p><p>Desmond grimaces.</p><p>"Imagine if upon coming back to the States, Tony Stark found himself penniless," Yinsen says pointedly. "Where would we be now?"</p><p>Desmond's first instinct is to dismiss it, but it's obviously a serious question, so… he gives it serious thought. Where would they be?</p><p>Probably still living together, if in slightly less ideal conditions. Tony still would've wanted to make the armour. Still would've worked to rebuild the Animus. Still would've taken care of them, probably. Maybe Desmond and Yinsen would've pitched in more, figured out jobs for themselves, who knows… but they'd have still stayed together.</p><p>And Desmond thinks he still would've gotten hopelessly, stupidly infatuated with Stark. Hell, maybe he started way back in the cave.</p><p>Desmond rolls the thought in his mind and then sighs. "Okay, maybe," he admits. "But that doesn't make me less awkward about the whole… leeching off him thing. Ugh."</p><p>"He doesn't mind, does he? Man has more money than he can ever spend, apparently," Yinsen shrugs and picks up his papers again. "We were all almost killed several times already. Why deny yourself life's little pleasures?"</p><p>"It's not exactly <em>little</em>."</p><p>"I don't want to hear it," Yinsen says firmly and rolls his eyes.</p><p>"That's not – I mean. The mansion and everything, and, uh," Desmond says, feeling his face heat up, and then groans, spotting the man's smirk. "You're the <em>worst</em>, Yinsen. Also, I still can't believe you're like… supportive about this."</p><p>Yinsen shrugs. "Honestly, I think you will be a good influence on Stark," he muses. "And he on you."</p><p>Desmond gives him an incredulous look, but – Yinsen seems to be completely sincere. "Huh," he murmurs.</p><p>"Mm-hmm," Yinsen says and turns his eyes back to his text. "Given time. And likely a few disasters, which I am hoping won't end in explosions, but I won't hold my breath. Also I think you completely disregard his opinion in this – which you should probably be consulting before mine, if I may be frank."</p><p>Desmond considers him for a moment. He's absolutely right. "You're a good man, Yinsen," he says then. "But I think sometimes your advice is kind of messed up."</p><p>"It is what it is," Yinsen answers calmly and doesn't look at him. "Life is short, Desmond. Shorter than you think."</p><p>Well… okay then.</p><p>Desmond heads inside, and then down into the workshop, where music is blaring and Stark is working on riveting something. He doesn't look up when Desmond enters, even though JARVIS turns down the music a little, and Dummy lifts his arm to look at him.</p><p>Desmond isn't sure what to say, so… he doesn't. Instead he sidles closer to Tony, to watch what he's doing.</p><p>He's putting together a new faceplate – it's a little more human-looking than the previous one, with eyes and sort of suggestion of a mouth and – cheekbones. Stark gave the faceplate <em>cheekbones</em>. Huh.</p><p>Stark puts in a row of rivets and then leans back, fiddling with the line of them and then glances up at Desmond. "Well, what do you think?" he asks, handing the faceplate over. "Gonna start working on the helmet HUD next, so… try it on."</p><p>Desmond does, holding the faceplate to his face. It has sort of scaffolding inside, probably spots for circuitry wiring and whatever else would be added to it. Stark did say that there'd be a targeting system, so there would probably be a lot of electronics in the thing, once it was finished.</p><p>"I hope you're adding some padding," Desmond says and hands it back. "Because otherwise this thing will cut up my face."</p><p>"Of course I am adding padding – it will have a breathable padding, and I am adding small fans here and here," Stark points on the faceplate. "To keep the airflow going – the processors that will go in will need them too, otherwise they will overheat, and that'd be bad not just for your pretty face, but for the suit overall."</p><p>"Okay, great, wouldn't want to harm the suit," Desmond says, shoving his hands into his pockets and considering Stark. There's a smear of something dark on his nose. He must've test fitted the mask on his own face – and it was probably freshly welded, because it looks like he'd given himself a slight burn.</p><p>Stark looks at him, licking his lips. "So," he says. "In how much trouble are we, then?"</p><p>Desmond lets the tension on his shoulders loosen and shrugs. "Probably a lot," he answers. "Is that going to stop us?"</p><p>Stark considers him and then turns the chair to face him. "What the hell," he decides, and reaches to grab Desmond by the hips. "Come here."</p><p>What the hell, Desmond thinks in agreement, and goes.</p>
<hr/><p>Somehow, in between whatever it is that he and Tony are doing, they finish the Iron Man Armour. And it's even more awesome than Desmond had realised, when put all together. Even when being part of the whole process, seeing bits and pieces of it half finished, watching the flight systems come together… he hadn't realised how the thing would <em>look</em> once done.</p><p>If the previous armours <em>looked</em> robotic, this one actually is. It looks like it could walk on its own.</p><p>"Technically it can," Tony agrees. "But also, it can't – we haven't even begun programming any kind of movement into it, right now it can only take your movement as a cue and follow suit – whatever you do, the suit will make it a hundred times more powerful. Now, go pull on your undersuit – let's test this baby out."</p><p>The newest suit is… really nothing like the old suits. JARVIS did the assembling of the Mark III suit too, but Mark IV is just a whole different ball game – it's like going from wearing a mountain bike to wearing a really fancy motorcycle. It weighs about as much as one too, nearly 400 pounds all told. Way heavier than Desmond can move on his own.</p><p>"It's just the first one of this model, I will be working on making it way lighter, I promise – the goal being you being able to carry it on your own, if you have to," Tony says, as JARVIS finishes screwing all the bolts in. "Right – JARVIS, are you ready?" he asks, and holds up the finished face plate.</p><p>"As always, sir."</p><p>"Engage heads up display – Desmond, you good?"</p><p>Desmond blinks and lifts his chin. "Yeah."</p><p>Tony fits the place over his face, slotting it into the helmet, and – then all Desmond can see is blue. There are screens in front of him, one for each eye – and they're feeding him what the suit sees. JARVIS is coming online, marking out everything the cameras see and identifying it, and fittingly, the very first thing they see is Tony – <em>Mr. Tony Stark</em>, the HUD tells him, <em>CEO of Stark Industries.</em> Aww.</p><p>Tony's eyes are shining. "How are you feeling in there? How's your noggin?"</p><p>"Actually – pretty damn good," Desmond says, letting out a laugh. There's no way in hell he can Bleed over any of this – it's too futuristic and amazing. "Tony, this is – this is <em>great</em>."</p><p>Tony grins, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "Good, good. Look around – tell me what you see."</p><p>Desmond does – looking over the bots watching curiously, the computers, the tool racks – JARVIS identifies everything, even going as far as to tell him the numbers on the spanners. "The hud looks good," Desmond says. "Really good – damn. JARVIS, zoom in on that, please?"</p><p>"You can control the magnification by squinting, sir," JARVIS says. "Or alternatively, by twitching your eye,"</p><p>"That's going to get a bit annoying in the long run," Desmond says, and narrows his eyes, zooming in on the glass case with Tony's previous arc reactor in it. It's on the other side of the workshop, but he can read the text on it. "Nice."</p><p>"Yes, it is," Tony agrees. "You two can figure out proper HUD controls between yourself, JARVIS should be able to adjust to your preferences, Desmond – J, do a check on all control surfaces."</p><p>"As you wish, sir."</p><p>Desmond can feel the armour moving around him, as the plates and coverings on all the weapons shift and engage before slotting back into their places. The suit feeds him data on all of them – plate 32, check, plate 24, check, plate 43, check...</p><p>"Beautiful," Tony says, satisfied, running his hands greedily over the shifting plates. "Damn, but I build some <em>sexy shit</em>."</p><p>"Yes, sir, the sexiest," JARVIS says, dry as a drought. "Preparing to power down and run diagnostics."</p><p>"Yeah, you do that, JARVIS, good work," Desmond says, breathing in and out in the suit's closed up life support system. The air inside the suit smells like metal and welding and fresh new upholstery – and Desmond hasn't felt this grounded in months. Taking off the faceplate, Desmond turns to Tony. "God<em>damn</em>, Tony."</p><p>Tony grins wider. "I'll take that as a positive review."</p><p>"I'll give you <em>positive</em>. Come here, I know you want to."</p><p>Tony laughs at him, standing up on his tiptoes and all but rubbing himself against the armour – and thankfully even in diagnostic mode the suit gives Desmond enough control that he can grab him by the waist and haul him up, because otherwise it would've made for a pretty awkward victory lap.</p><p>He still doesn't know what to do with the guy – but he's going to do it anyway.</p><p>Leaps of faith, and living their best lives, and all that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's it for this part, it's not perfect but it's done. This thing was entirely inspired by the upcoming Avengers game by square enix and Nolan North giving Iron Man the exact same voice he gave to Desmond. So. Yeah. <span class="small"><span class="small"> So if you want to see actual nearly canon Desmond as Iron Man content, there you have it lmao.</span></span></p><p>Thank you very much for reading and commenting! Next part will be a oneshot, and then another one shot, and then something chaptered and then who knows. There's a lot of stuff I want to write for this verse, but I don't want to get trapped in another 40+ chapter monstrosity, so I am chopping stuff into manageable bits for more chill experience. At least that's the plan.</p><p>Stay tuned, stay strong, stay safe, see you then, etc.</p>
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